


Captain America: A Million Shards Falling

by Legume_Shadow



Series: Captain America: In the Line of Duty (Series) [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate-Universe, Canon Continuity, Dual Languages, Framework Shenanigans, Framework!Fitz is Fascinating to Write, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Inspired by Deus Ex: Mankind Divided, Martini Spycraft, Spycraft, Stale Beer Spycraft, Superhero Thriller Spycraft (Hopefully), so much spycraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 174,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legume_Shadow/pseuds/Legume_Shadow
Summary: Steve and Bucky are transported into the Framework.  To get Bucky and himself out may require Steve to compromise every ideal he holds dear, as the world he knows, is turned upon its head.  Post CA:CW, pre A:IW.





	1. желание (Longing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadow_Chaser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Point of View](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245858) by [Shadow_Chaser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser). 



> First Publishing: May 2018, AO3  
> Disclaimer: All characters (except for the ones created by me) belong to their respective owners. No profit is being made from this work of fiction.
> 
> I learned Russian a while ago (I read better than I speak), so my grasp of the syntax is a little rusty. I apologize in advance if there are some grammatical issues with my Russian.
> 
> Theme Music: 'A Million Stars Falling' by Ninja Tracks

 

**Chapter 1: желание (Longing)**

 

я не знаю.

It was the one sentence that had never crossed his thoughts or had ever been uttered from his lips.

He always knew, always had orders.

Mission parameters were always подтверждаю.

Never не знаю or не понимаю.

It told his handlers that he was defective, he was not--

It was a death sentence.

Until that day, that damn dirty, filth-covered day where he couldn't see anything other than the mission – the Order. Couldn't see anything other than Steven 'Captain America' Rogers. And the mission destroyed him—no, destroyed the Order, and partially destroyed that souless monster who had taken over his life--

я не знаю.

It was true now. He didn't know why he was worth it, why the skinny kid from Brooklyn who sometimes skirted his jumbled memories, had defended him. He didn't know why, when he felt, deep within his bones, that it should have been him, who should have always defended Steven Rogers. That... that was something he was certain of – a feeling long buried under the convoluted layers of whatever he was now. Something that the monster within him could not take away from him.

_Until the end of the line._

я не знаю.

_Your mother's name is Sarah._

я не знаю.

The year was 2016, that he was sure of. Each and every time they had woken him up from the cold, reconditioned him with the words and the device, they had always provided him with the barest of relevant information needed for the mission. One thing was constant – the year. 1955, 1964, 1971, 1991... They always told him what year it was. Sometimes, the year wasn't even relevant for his mission or for the operation, but they always told him.

While he knew that a more saner man would have derived the knowledge of the passage of time as something relevant, he kept it as a tool to tuck away for later usage. For what, he didn't know, but since that day – the day when not-so-skinny Steven Rogers had broken through his conditioning--

ненавижу это...

But what was... это? What was he now, with all that had happened? It was still hazy, still unclear, but he clung onto the fragments of the memories that had surfaced. His journal of those fragments was lost – gone and most likely destroyed when Interpol had come after him – and by extension, Rogers. Nothing in the fragments that he had salvaged over the course of his hiding in Romania had prepared him for the fact that Captain America was breaking international law by helping him escape.

_...with you, until the end of the line..._

It was a promise kept, a fragment from what little source he could remember, even when things went sideways at the holding facility in Berlin. It drove him to escape, even if it meant knocking out Rogers during that escape – that he himself was the one causing Rogers undue distress. Well... it was supposed to be an escape hounded by the Order, until a rather liberal application of cranial percussive maintenance via helicopter into the river, snapped him out of the fugue.

ненавижу это...

The shit list – the list of people that caused Rogers distress? He was on it, and tried to remove himself from the list by hiding away in eastern Europe. Sure, Stark had been on the top of his shit list for causing Rogers undue distress, until it became clear that Zemo only used that shit list to play all of them for fools.

ты упрямый.

Well... it seemed that they both were. That, and the super-soldier serum both of them had coursing through their veins gave them an advantage over Stark and his tech – but only just so. He clung to the pain – the sensation of fire crawling up his torn metal arm – as he felt Rogers shift slightly. His good hand – his flesh arm which was dislocated, fractured, and pulsating in so much pain – clung onto the rough fabric of Rogers' uniform as they supported each other. They had to keep standing – to put one foot in front of the other. It was agonizingly slow, the steps they were taking as the two of them limped and shuffled out of the bottom of the silo.

Why was he worth it?

я не знаю any James Buchanan Barnes. Not right now; not when he only had fragments that kept spilling out of his hands, no matter how hard he tried to cling onto those slippery memories.

“Yes you do,” he heard Rogers softly state, as he blinked and realized he had just said that last thought out loud. Before Rogers could continue, a violent shudder rumbled through the silos. A light avalanche of debris started to rain down, but it was the humming noise, the prickled at his ears and seemed to worm into his chest that caused him to look up. Far be it that hardy, nearly indestructible Soviet-era construction decimated by two super-soldiers and Iron Man, was about to crash upon them, it was something else about to fall on top of them.

“Oh shit,” he managed to bite out just as the ball of crackling light overwhelmed his eyes--

что?

It wasn't soft, it wasn't hard – he knew what hard combat landings were, even with his fragments of memories – but it did hurt like hell decided to plunge a hand into his stomach, when he and Rogers landed. He was sure they landed... or in a more rational line of thought, fell over in a collapsing heap of aggravated injuries that both of their serum-enhanced bodies were trying to repair. But it was the smell – the lack of a sharpness that he had continuously breathed in – the bunker's familiar scent and the flames that had surrounded it – that alerted him to something wrong.

He snapped his eyes open.

There was no twisted metal debris, burning sections of the bunker consuming the oxygen, or even the familiar grounds of the silo they had been fighting in. A dimly lit, sea-foam green painted walls that was full of upturned metal desks, tall metal bookcases, pieces of paper and folders, along with broken machinery littered the area. The buzz-hum of the light flickered a bit, but provided no stronger source than it initially had. Violently shoving his pain, his fatigue, and every little confusing thought that had clung onto him like burrs, he rolled up from where he had been lying, and into a crouch. Rogers was lying in a heap next to him, but was stirring, and a moment later, had opened his eyes.

“Bucky--”

“Shh!” he hissed, as he strained to listen, noting out of the corner of his eyes, Rogers getting up as soundlessly as he had done. Neither of them had to say it – it was obvious, looking from the scattered, rusted, and seemingly long abandoned office space that they were unexpectedly somewhere else. Finally, after a couple of minutes, he heard it – the faint, almost imagined shouts, followed by the even softer, barely audible crunch of boots on linoleum floor.

Ботфорты.

“Two teams, six each, coming around a bend, one hundred meters away. Third team on stairwell at far end of hall, five hundred meters,” he whispered, before quickly getting up and pressing himself against a really musty-smelling metal book casing lying against the wall that nearly reached the ceiling. Said bookcase was also covered in at least five centimeters of dust on each shelf, but he wasn't about to sneeze.

Rogers had wisely not questioned his not-quite orders and scrambled behind an equally dusty, old, enormous desk that oddly reminded him of Karpov's desk. He saw him press himself up against the desk, turtled as he remembered seeing him turtled behind his shield many times before. Rogers glanced up at him, eyes full of concern and something else that he could not identify, but it was not pity. Even with his fragments, he got a feeling that Rogers had never looked at him with pity.

ненавижу это...

The wait... the patience, the even breaths... all for the perfect kill shot. Even with what the pamphlets and internet articles about James Barnes said that he supported every action taken against HYDRA during the war, he knew on some intrinsic level that he was usually able to do this. He was able to exert a tremendous amount of patience for that one perfect opportunity – Winter Soldier or not. With no weapons upon him at the moment, and knowing that it was only because of adrenaline that he remained standing where he was, he did indeed, ненавижу это. That was going on the new shit list, though at the top spot was whatever the hell had transported them to... here...

The sound of boots on the floor grew ever so slowly, as the pattern of their footsteps indicated that these teams were sweeping the rooms. However, twenty meters before either team made it to the room the footsteps abruptly turned and headed down what sounded like a parallel set of hall. Except for one pair, which continued down the last twenty meters with a lot of caution.

Смирно.

He sucked in his breath, holding it as he usually did when preparing for the kill shot. Through the thin slats in the bookcase, he saw someone dressed in dark fatigues enter the room. Shallowly exhaling as quietly as he could, he blinked and narrowed his eyes just a fraction – the person in the dark fatigues and helmet was carrying an overly bright, silvery shield. It looked every inch of Rogers' former shield, except as he moved ever so slightly, he could see a giant red star branded on the center of the shield – much like his own red star on his metal arm.

“You can come out now. I'm not here to arrest or hurt either of you.”

The voice was feminine, surprisingly warm and gentle, but with a hint of authority behind it. He glanced over at Rogers, seeing him frown, but remain where he was. Turning back to try to get a better angle to see the person's face, without moving or making any noise, he heard the woman say, “I can smell blood... and that usually doesn't belong in an abandoned building... both of you are injured.”

Still, he and Rogers remained where they were, but those words did send chills down his spine, despite the pain that was creeping back up and past his adrenaline-fueled actions. He knew what fresh blood smelled like, what three-days-old murder scene blood smelled like, what dried and crusted blood over rapidly healing wounds smelled like. He also knew that most normal people, including soldiers, couldn't smell blood.

“Here...” the woman continued, as he saw out of the slat, the shield move to the side. Moments later, he heard a thunk against the floor. “I don't have my shield on me, and I just removed my helmet. I'm just going to leave some medical supplies. You're safe now.”

He couldn't see clearly, but there was some movement from the woman before he heard the sounds of something being placed on the ground. He glanced over to Rogers, catching his questioning look towards him. He could only indicate with a very slight tilt of his head that he didn't know what he hell the woman was doing.

“Clear out the others soldiers first,” Rogers unexpectedly stated out loud, startling both him and the woman from whatever she was doing.

Идиот.

“Okay, I can do that,” the woman stated after a moment's start. A second later, he heard her say into some com channel, “All teams, this is Rogers. Report back to the Quinjet. The building is clear. Whoever had been here is long gone.”

He frowned, even as he heard the booted footsteps and faint shouts of the teams returning to where they had come from – the far side of the building. The woman had said 'Rogers'... had identified herself to be 'Rogers'. Jumbled memories aside, his sense of danger rose a little more, as the echoes of boots on the ground faded.

“Rogers?” he heard Rogers state, grasping onto the fragment that had clearly stated that sometimes, Rogers had no sense of self preservation, as he saw him cautiously stand up. “Who are-- oh wow.”

“Uh....” was all the woman could answer as he saw shock play all over Rogers' expression. Though his own sense of self preservation was definitely greater than Rogers', there was no gunshot, no jackbooted soldiers jumping out from beyond the door and into the room. At least not in the few milliseconds that passed between Rogers standing up, and the complete loss of coherent vocal capabilities from both of them.

He stepped out from behind the bookcase, and stopped, blinking in utter confusion. The woman who stood before the two of them, with a small medical kit by her feet, helmet set next to the circular silver shield with the bright red star in the center, looked quite related to Rogers. Her sandy blonde hair was cropped short with a tapered fringe that draped to her right. One side of her haircut was buzzed almost to her scalp, while the other looked like the same haircut that Rogers had himself. She was suited in all black fatigues that was not quite reminiscent of Rogers' outfit, but it was close. Height wise, she was just as tall as Rogers, though her smaller frame within the fatigues seemed to play an illusion on that by making her slightly shorter.

“Bucky?!” she managed to say, regaining a semblance of words and how to form them.

The way she said it socked him with the memory of fighting on the streets of DC, of the pounding Order within his mind to kill Rogers. He had had lost his glasses to Romanov, and his mask to Rogers. The same exclamation, said in a breathless, disbelieving tone that was filled with both despair and joy at the same time--

нет.

He was not the Winter Soldier anymore. He did not need those last vivid, non-fragmented memories of what he had done – tried to do. He only needed the results from those, to try to regain a sense of identity; to try to collect the slippery fragments. Adamantly refusing to look at Rogers was helping... somewhat. That and the pain from his wounds that was nearing a critical level in which he could tolerate without giving away to anyone that he was about to collapse.

ненавижу это...

Another thing to add on the new shit list, though before his thoughts could go any further, he heard the woman say, “No... you're not... no, you're not my Bucky...” It was not surprising that her eyes, the same vivid blue-green color as Rogers, had traveled to the stump of his mechanical arm. “Oh God, I don't have a medical kit for that...”

“We'll manage,” Rogers answered. “Thank you... for not shooting us... I think.”

He heard the faint crackle on the radio that seemed to be tied to the woman's helmet. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was most likely someone from one of the teams inquiring after her. It made him nervous and uneasy that she was not calling in the other teams, especially with her earlier comment about arresting people. “I'll be fine,” he said. “Team's looking for you.”

It was her turn to frown slightly before she retrieved the shield and hooked it to her back. Turning back to them she asked, “Think you guys can make it to New York, and meet me at the end of Grace Court Alley in Brooklyn?”

“What's there?” Rogers asked, cautious and suspicious.

“Safe haven,” she said. “A shield against the world for those who seek shelter.”

змея.

She abruptly turned, plucked up her helmet and jammed it back on her head before leaving, saying into the coms, “I'm returning. Just had to make one last sweep.”

Neither he nor Rogers moved until both of them were sure that the woman's footsteps had completely faded. Even then, he had to strain to try to hear the sound of a quinjet firing its engines to VTOL out of the area. “She's HYDRA,” he stated, just as Rogers took a step forward.

“What?!”

He tried to answer, tried to open his mouth to say something, but the sweeping tsunami of fiery pain cascaded over him. He gasped for air, only to find himself drowning, before his vision tipped sideways. Blessed darkness and something cold and comforting pressed up against his side, as he heard someone shouting his name, sweeping away the pain. He never thought he would like the cold again--

что?

_Until the end of the line..._

It was the scent of blood, dried and crusted, with some of it still oozing out of a wound that woke him up. Cotton fog seemed to have been spread all over his senses, as the fire that had crawled over and under his skin felt muted... almost as if he were just standing next to it, feeling the heat. He blinked, feeling heavy eyelids rub against his rough, dry eyes, as the world slowly came back into focus. Breathing in, the scent of a burning silo, wasn't there. It was just... blood, and a faint, but almost indiscernible smell of mold and mildew. The screech of twisted metal falling didn't ring in his ears, and the ceiling above him was pockmarked with holes and what looked like lichen growth.

So it wasn't a dream – they truly were in another reality or world, or both.

He turned his head slightly, and it caught Rogers' attention as he blinked and looked slightly up to see him move from where he had been sitting near the door, on watch. Rogers' eyes widened slightly and he heard him exclaim, “Bucky!”

Despite his slight irritation at Rogers for abandoning watch so easily, a part of him grasped onto the fragment that gave him the fleeting memory of the one rare time when he had been sick in bed at home. Rogers had come by to visit, and sat with him all day, watching over him, sketching some beautiful drawings – and a few funny ones – until his sisters had returned from their garment factory work. It was a happy memory, one that left him slightly out of sorts, as he knew that no one should have been happy about getting sick, not especially he remembered from another fragment that Rogers had been frail and weak before he had been injected with the super-soldier serum.

“Still... here?” he asked, as he made to get up before Rogers crouched and helped him sit up. Despite the pressure on his back and good arm, no burst and crawling sensation of pain emerged from it, which surprised him.

“Yep,” Rogers answered, nodding slightly. “No one for a good mile perimeter, last I checked about ten minutes ago. Managed to scrounge some edible berries.”

Blinking some more, he saw that Rogers clearly had some bits and bramble that had gotten stuck to his hair. However, it seemed that many of the cuts and scrapes he had received during the fight against Stark were still bleeding, though it was clear they were healing. No bandages covered the still bleeding scrapes. “Med kit?” he asked. As much as he wanted to ask how long he had been passed out, it was quite irrelevant to how they would find a way to get out of 'here'.

“There,” Rogers stated, nodding over to a corner where it was only the husk of the medical kit that the woman had set down. It looked like it had been stuffed with wild berries. He frowned, and looked back at Rogers.

“I had to use it all on you,” Rogers stated, tone thick with an emotion that he could not identify just yet.

There were no fragments to help him process the gratitude, but something told him that he should have been admonishing Rogers for doing something so foolish to waste an entire emergency medical kit on one person when they were clearly both injured. However, the words that he wanted to say wouldn't come out, so he settled for glaring at Rogers.

Идиот.

That only spurred Rogers to say, “I heal faster than you, Buck. You needed the kit more than I did. I... I didn't want to lose you again.”

“Спасибо,” he grudgingly stated after a few moments, eyes unable to maintain contact with Rogers' own – so full of relief, happiness, and care that still bewildered him. He still didn't know why he was worth it, but for now, he would accept it and the fragment that whispered 'I'm with you until the end of the line'. It was the one fragment said on that burning Helicarrier that partially destroyed the monster within him, and told him a little of their friendship through apparent thick and thin. He would accept it, so long as Rogers was not going to be reckless with his own life.

“пожалуйста.”

He blinked in surprise, asking, “When did you learn Russian?”

“When I was looking for you after SHIELD fell,” Rogers stated after a few moments, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Nat... Romanov, called in some contacts from Kiev and gave me a file on you... it was all in Russian, so I had to learn it to read it.”

Rogers abruptly fell silent, and he didn't push to ask what exactly was in the file. He didn't need to know – didn't want to know, but he had more than enough of his memories as the Winter Soldier, and anonymous internet searches to know what could have been done to him to make him the way he was... had been... still partially was. He was also grateful that Rogers was not pushing him any further than questioning him about 1991 mission report and the bare basics of the Winter Soldier project.

“Your accent sucks. You sound like some Moscow-raised and bred oligarch with too much time on his hands,” he stated instead, though he didn't know why he had said that – why he felt the need for some levity.

Rogers chuckled at that, shaking his head slightly before looking at him with a small smile on his face. However relieved he felt about seeing that smile that was somewhat familiar and comforting to him, it was gone with another passing second as Rogers asked, “What made you say that that woman was HYDRA, Bucky?”

“змея>. It just popped into head,” he answered. “The shield, the outfit... everything screamed opposite of you”

“Her words?” Rogers questioned. “You think we shouldn't believe her? I mean, the med kit wasn't contaminated, and I couldn't find any tracking devices on it.”

He shook his head. As grateful as he was to have something new to concentrate on, he couldn't shake the deep feeling that they being 'here' was wrong. It didn't feel like the dangerous atmosphere he had had when entering the silo to make sure that Zemo did not release the other Winter Soldier operatives. It just felt...suffocating...

“So you think she's HYDRA, yet she called off the teams. Why tell us to go to New York?” Rogers mused. “She said 'a shield against the world for those who seek shelter.' What do you think that means? Could she be a double agent? Working with SHIELD, spying on HYDRA?”

“HYDRA and SHIELD fell,” he pointed out. “If her words are to be believed, HYDRA has taken over the world... this world.”

“Then how do we get back?” Rogers asked, frowning, though it sounded more like a rhetorical question than an actual one.

He remained silent at that, even though it was clear that Rogers was expecting him to answer or at least throw ideas and theories with him. He had no memories of that, and didn't know how to proceed with such an unstated request. He didn't feel comfortable interjecting too much of his own opinions, other than that statement of fact from just the woman's words alone. It was clear from the time Rogers had shown up in his apartment, to even now that he had expected him to be the same 'Bucky' from long ago. He knew he clearly wasn't, at least not with his jumbled, unsorted memories, and couldn't be – not until he was able to quietly work through it.

All of his journals were gone now – he would have to start from scratch, especially after the brutal code words that had seared into his mind, without the aid of the electroshock. He didn't want to be Steven Rogers' 'Bucky', but yet here Rogers was, clearly not about to leave him be, and he found himself strangely immensely grateful – 'until the end of the line'. Both of them had said those words to each other, even if they had been far apart in time.

“Where do you think we should go, Buck? You think you can stand and walk? It's near sundown, so I think it might be safe enough for us to move and find somewhere else that's safer to spend the night.”

He almost shrugged – he was not one to go running into insane situations, unless it really mattered. Rogers did have a point though – they couldn't linger here, and even his instincts as the Winter Soldier was telling him to not remain here overnight. He found himself saying, “Let's jack a ride and at least get past the Krauts first, I guess.”

что?

He blinked, frowning to himself as he saw that Rogers was also wearing a slight frown before nodding. The words had come first, unbidden, before the fragment that accompanied it was that of Rogers and him in what looked like World War Two German uniforms. They were in disguise and stuck way behind enemy lines for the night. Nothing came after that small fragment, so he had to assume that they had successfully stolen a vehicle and made it back to friendly territory.

He silently nodded in return, and with assistance from Rogers, slowly stood up. The pain crawling throughout his body had been deadened quite a bit, but there was no fuzziness associated with his mind that told him painkillers were swimming in his bloodstream. Only a fog that cleared as soon as he took a couple of steps forward, feeling the bandages that had been wrapped and stuck on him pull slightly. Rogers went over to pick up the med kit of berries, handed him a handful, and he followed him out, absently swallowing the berries whole.

Together, the two of them made their way down the hall, passing by many rooms that looked exactly like the one they had emerged out of. Sections of the building seemed to have been blasted apart by something, letting the noise of sunset and into night stream in. Hall after hall, they made their way to the far side, where there was fading evidence that a quinjet had been there. As they made their way down the steps, careful to keep their footsteps as quiet as possible, he narrowed his eyes slightly as he thought he heard something.

“Bucky?” he heard Rogers question in a whisper, as he realized that he had stopped at the second landing from the ground, and was pressed against what remained of the wall that had been blown in, in this stairwell.

Raising a finger to his lips for silence, he looked out into the fading light, still seeing everything as if it was clear as day. He did not have absolutely clear night vision, and could only see fairly well in the dark, but his own senses had been enhanced enough that dusk and dawn were like a light switch that simply got turned on and off with the sun. Soon, he heard it – the far away sound of a train horn.

“Freight train,” he said. “Five kilometers from here.”

“Guess that's going to be our ride for now,” Rogers stated before peering up at him with open concern etched upon his face. “You going to be okay, Buck?”

He silently nodded and joined Rogers down on the ground. Together, the two of them took off at a sprinting pace, hearing the horn of the freight train get louder as they crashed through the woods that surrounded the area. Leaping over fallen branches and dashing around large boulders, he clamped down on the pain that was shooting all over his body from his still healing wounds. Birds and other small creatures were startled from their nighttime nests and took to the air and ground. As the dark forest gradually cleared out, they saw that the train was already passing them by, headed north, and was nearly gone.

There was at least one more cargo car that was attached to the meters of gas cars that the train was hauling. It was that, that both he and Rogers raced parallel to it for a few moments before Rogers leapt up, grabbing the locked handholds that would allow the doors to slide open if it were unlocked and not bound by two wrapped chains. As soon as Rogers had hooked his feet into the lower hand holds and turned back with an outstretched hands, that was when he leapt, reaching out with his good arm.

The pull and jerk of his running momentum being momentarily arrested sent a lighting shot of pain through his arm, but then he was slammed more or less against Rogers for a moment. Hooking his legs into hand holds next to where Rogers was, he leaned his body into the cargo door and wrapped his good hand inside-out against one of the hand holds that Rogers was holding. The wind whipped at his back, but despite the loss of his metal arm, he kept his balance – he had to. Despite his disgust and unease, he drew on the memories he had of the Winter Soldier to keep himself from toppling or losing his grip on an 88 kph train.

Seeing that he was secured for the moment, Rogers started to move upwards, to most likely break into the cargo car from one of the vents on the top. He couldn't really see what Rogers was doing, but a few moments later, he felt one of Rogers' hands wrap around his wrist and looked up. “Got you!” he heard Rogers shout, before beginning to haul him up. He immediately released his foot lock on the hand holds. For one brief, oddly terrifying moment, he was hanging in the air, with only Rogers' one hand wrapped out his wrist.

That was abated not a second later when Rogers wrapped both hands around his arm, hauling him up. Both of them collapsed on the top of the cargo car, where there was a clear hole made in the vent next to them, catching their breaths for a moment. “It's clear!” Rogers said, gesturing for him to go in first.

He obliged him, not really wanting to stay out where the cold wind was whipping at him, aggravating his wounds even further. Grabbing the lip, with Rogers' assistance, he hauled himself over and dropped into the cargo hold. It smelled... rank... but nothing too offensive. Stepping out of the way as Rogers hauled himself in, he bumped into wooden boxes, and felt his way around. It looked like there were some cargo netting that secured the boxes on either side, possibly creating a long corridor from end to end. However, he didn't stray far from the hole they Rogers made, and instead sat down. It wouldn't do him or Rogers good to go feeling their way up or down the cargo hold – especially since they couldn't tell what was being stored here.

Rogers sat down a moment later, on the side where his good arm was, affectionately nudging him. “Get some rest, Bucky. I'll take watch.”

“Wake me up in two,” he stated, setting his own internal clock as well, again, drawing on the Winter Soldier's memories on how to do such a thing. He was not going to let Rogers stay up the entire night – not if he could help it. They were both injured, and they needed some rest. Wherever the freight train was going, it would at least provide them with a few hours of safe shelter.

“Will do, Buck. Will do.”

* * *

Exhaustion was pulling at him, as Steve blinked and opened his eyes, slowly letting it adjust to the darkness within the hold until he could see the faint outlines of the crates and netting. It had been the screech of brakes being applied to the freight train that had woken him up, not the tap on the shoulder that he had expected to happen. As he rolled his neck around, feeling a couple of pops, he noted that there was no pain running through him – his wounds must have healed enough over night. He looked over to his left to see that Bucky wasn't leaning against him or the crates that they had been leaning against. The space was empty, and it was what was a little further down that caught his attention. Two crates had been pulled out from behind the cargo netting, and had been stacked one on top of each other.

Standing on the top most crate was Bucky, though all Steve could see were the lower half of his kevlar vest-protected torso that still had some bandages peeking out from underneath it, combat trouser covered legs, and booted feet. It then hit him that Bucky had not woken him up after he had gone to sleep for an anticipated two hours. That thought immediately soured his somewhat restful and good mood, though it was only slightly.

He could never stay angry at Bucky, no matter what happened.

Even though he had no good sense of time, he estimated sunset and sunrise based upon the date in which they had left their 'world', so to speak. The ambient temperature was a little on the chilly side, and thus he had adjusted his assumption of time based upon what he had seen thus far. He had promised Bucky to wake him up after two hours, debated with himself as he watched his best friend sleep for those two hours, to let him sleep longer than two hours. Unfortunately, it seemed that even as grievously injured as he had been, Bucky had an uncanny amount of accuracy in setting his own internal clock – his friend had woken up exactly at the two hour mark.

Steve had reluctantly fallen asleep after that, asking Bucky to wake him up. While he was annoyed at Bucky, he really couldn't be – as he had an inkling of what his best friend was going through. During their hunt for Bucky, Sam had explained to him about the various mental states that POWs who had suffered at the hands of their captors gone through. It gave him a newfound clarity of what the Howling Commandos had gone through before he had freed them.

It also made him more aware and guilty that he hadn't done enough for any of them during the war to help them recover – especially Bucky. He now had a greater understanding of just how much Bucky had hid his internal turmoil from him after being rescued from that HYDRA facility. He wished he could take all of his mistakes during the war back – to go back in time and berate himself for leaving Bucky alone when he should clearly not have been left completely alone.

At the present though, it was now all the more aware of the space and room he needed to give Bucky. Sam had read through the files that Natasha had given him, after he had translated as much as he could. As much as Steve wanted to rectify his mistakes from the war, Sam had warned him about 'smothering' tendencies that people tended to do when a close friend or loved one was suffering from 'battle fatigue' or PTSD, as the modern terminology called it.

Steve had been explicitly warned – almost ordered by Sam – to never cross into that territory. He, Steve, needed to give Bucky room to breathe and sort out his thoughts and actions, but also be there as a reminder of the good in his life. What Bucky had gone through in the hands of Zola and HYDRA was something that Steve knew he could never relate to, and knew that Bucky would most likely never want to talk about – even if he ever regained a portion of his memories.

Even however brief he had taken a peek in one of Bucky's journals – Steve was sure Bucky had had a lot of journals – the short lines of memories he had read about were heartbreaking. When they returned to their reality... their world, he knew that somehow, once they got to safe haven, he would have to go track down the backpack that Bucky had had with him when he had escaped that apartment. He was pretty certain that there were more journals within that backpack, and that they were going to help Bucky recover.

But they needed to find a way home, to their world where HYDRA was not in control. He didn't see any markings or logos on the woman who looked like relative of his that indicated HYDRA, but he had heard the conviction within Bucky's tone. He had to trust his friend on this, and the brutally short analysis that Bucky had provided was enough for him to discern that there was a high probability that HYDRA was in control of this world. That was going to make it dangerous to sneak around, since there were no protocols or precedence to how HYDRA would operate on a global scale. If what Alexander Pierce had attempted with the Helicarriers were anything to go by, then getting to a relatively safe and secured place to peruse the internet would be a priority.

He knew of a few dingy internet cafes scattered in DC and in New York. He had done brief searches on what files had been dumped on the internet to cross-correlate with the Winter Soldier when he had been searching for Bucky. He had not wanted to do the searches on Stark's properties, understanding more and more on how the internet was monitored since the collapse of SHIELD. That and the fact that there had HYDRA had traced his location on two occasions when he and Natasha had been on the run for three days. That world was still dangerous, but he still called it home – even if he knew he would still be a fugitive from the law.

It was worth it though, everything he had done to ensure that whatever demons haunted Bucky would be put to rest. So long as the world didn't believe that Bucky was innocent, then he would continue to protect him, and if even after, he would still continue to do so--

A small growl from his stomach interrupted his brief musing as he glanced down to see that the med kit turned berry carrier was still next to him, but was less full than it had been last night. He smiled slightly; at least he didn't have to nag Bucky to feed himself. Scooping up a handful of berries, he at them and secured the small satchel to one of his shoulder straps.

While not quite a thirst quencher, the berries were enough to sate his thirst for a little while, but he knew that soon, both of them would need to concern themselves with water, rather than food. By his count, it had been a little under twenty-four hours since either of them had anything proper to drink. That and combined with their mostly healed injuries required a lot more fluid intake than either of them had been getting.

“We just passed Newark Airport,” he heard Bucky say as he got up, just as his friend crouched down again. With his hair windblown whichever way, Bucky looked a little more wild, but Steve couldn't help but smile, as an unbidden memory of a younger Bucky running up and down as fast as he could on the boardwalk in Coney Island popped into his thoughts.

He dashed that pleasant memory away, asking, “So we're running parallel to the Jersey Turnpike?”

Bucky didn't answer him and merely stared for a moment before lifting his shoulders up in an almost imperceptible manner. Steve bit back the regret that surfaced as he realized that Bucky would most likely have absolutely no memory of the modern major highway routes that crisscrossed the United States. He didn't know what HYDRA did whenever they 'conditioned' Bucky for a mission, but whatever it was, it was probably like bare bones enough to complete a mission. It was most likely similar to the absolute necessary information he had been given on each mission he had undertaken for SHIELD.

“I guess this is our stop then. We'll get off, hopefully find some jackets or something to put over our clothes, and find some way to get to Brooklyn. Let's see if that woman was telling the truth,” he said. “You okay with that?”

Bucky had stated that 'snake' had popped up in his thoughts upon hearing the woman's words, and despite the first connotation to that word, Steve had thought about it some more. The words that the woman had said were cryptic, that was for sure. However, considering that she did not shoot at them, called off the teams, and left without a fuss told him that perhaps this woman was not HYDRA. Perhaps she was disguised as a snake – a double agent.

It was a far fetched hope, but he had heard enough of Stark and Banner talking about alternate universes and the like in the aftermath of the Chitauri attack, that he was willing to put forth the notion that the woman was a counterpart of him... of sorts. Of course, he kept it to himself, but he was not naive anymore to know that appearances did not equate to trustworthiness. It made him disappointed to see just how paranoid the world had become, but he was here and in the now, and still willing to do whatever he needed to ensure that people were protected. Still willing to put forth a little trust and faith in people to do the right thing.

Again, Bucky had responded with a barely perceptible shrug, except that he followed up with that action by standing back up, and hauled himself one-armed over the lip of the vent. Steve was already scrambling towards the crates and managed to climb them fast, but not fast enough to help Bucky. Hauling himself up, he saw that Bucky was crouched and looking towards the stacks of shipping containers that they were passing on the east side of the tracks.

It was still dark, with the cargo drop off station they were pulling into, and the shipping container area was illuminated by scattered poles of lights. A few hundred yards to the left of where they were, was the New Jersey Turnpike, with its exit signs barely lit up. He returned his attention to the cargo container side of the trains. As much as he wanted to say to Bucky that he should have waited for him to help, he didn't. Sam's warning about smothering Bucky was still at the forefront of his thoughts.

Instead, as the train continued to slow, he glanced over for a moment and wordlessly, both of them jumped off the train and onto the gravel-covered embankment. Rolling forward and up, the two of them zigzagged their way through the tracks and knots of parked cargo trains without engines attached to them. The air was cool, and as they approached the fence that would lead them into the area where the shipping containers were kept, he knew that that would be their best chance at finding something to disguise themselves.

Pressing himself up against a rusted boxcar, he took a quick peek up and around the immediate area. “Cameras at two and nine. Five hundred meters apart, two hundred meters up,” he heard Bucky state. “Rotor platform. Easily knocked to the side.”

“Guess its time to throw some rocks like we used to, trying to peg those seagulls that seemed to love to harass Nathan's stand,” he answered, crouching down to pick up two good-sized piece of gravel, tossing one to Bucky. “I'll take nine, you take two.”

They stepped out of the shadows of the boxcar at the same time, and Steve threw his stone precisely at the camera that was at their former nine-o-clock position. At nearly the same time, the faint ding of the rocks striking their targets was heard, and the whir of them forcibly rotating away confirmed that the cameras were no longer watching the area for the moment. Steve quickly sprinted to the fence and scrambled up. Leaping up and over, he landed on the other side with a crouch and immediately ran to the nearest cargo container for shelter.

Security response to the dinged cameras was faster than he anticipated as he heard the sounds of at least two booted feet crunching on the gravel-covered ground approaching. He turned to his right to wave Bucky back, further towards the end of one of the containers, when he realized that Bucky was no where near or next to him. In fact, even with the poor lighting conditions of the night and container pen, he couldn't see any sign of Bucky anywhere.

Clamping down on the brief momentary panic, he slipped back further down the cargo container until he heard the footsteps almost turn the corner. Sliding into the opposite end of the container, he heard the murmurs of two security guards conversing with each other and through the radio about what could have caused the cameras to be knocked out of alignment. Glancing up, there was just barely enough room for him to at least climb and hang onto the ledge to skirt—his eyes widened in pure surprise.

Bucky was already putting into motion the plan that he had just thought of. He had believed Natasha when she had stated that the Winter Soldier was a ghost in the Intelligence community, but had not truly believed the actual application of the word until now. How Bucky had managed to climb and shimmy across a container with one hand without even him hearing it was... baffling. It also filled him with despair as he realized that his best friend was utilizing the memories he had of as the Winter Soldier to do such a thing. The Bucky he had known had never been or acted in such a stealthy manner.

However, this was the now, and not the past, and Steve managed to focus himself on the present, just as he heard the faint click of the radio conversation being silenced for the moment. That was also when Bucky acted.

Just as his friend dropped right in between the two guards, Steve sprang into action himself. Dashing in from the side, just as he saw Bucky kick the legs out from one of the guards, he curled his right hand into a fist and punched the other guard in the gut. The guard folded in half, with the wind knocked out of him, just as the other guard fell to the ground hard, knocked out by the impact. Steve followed up with a strike to the back of the folded guard's head, hard enough to merely knock him out.

It had not even taken three seconds for them to subdue the two guards, though Bucky immediately plucked one of the radios from the guards and fiddled with it for a moment before speaking into it saying in a perfectly normal tone, “Maybe send someone from maintenance down to have a look. Possible owl strike for at least one of them.”

“Copy. We'll have someone there in a few,” someone answered before the crackle of the radio being silenced was heard again.

“Bucky...” he began, as he knelt down and began to strip the gut-punched guard of his weaponry.

“целеустремленность.”

Steve blinked, pausing for a moment as he looked up sharply. There was absolutely no context to that word, but even so, the intent behind it was clear. “Purpose? This--” he gestured to the guards and around them “--it gives you a sense of purpose?” he asked.

Bucky nodded once and continued to strip the other guard of his weaponry.

As much as Steve tried to suppress the frown from appearing on his face, he couldn't. Yet he did keep his opinions on the matter from spilling out, as he knew that it was not something Bucky did not need to hear. During the drive to the Berlin airport, he had noticed that Bucky seemed a lot more focused, though he had chalked that up to the fact that their initial mission was to stop Zemo from reactivating the other Winter Soldiers. Now though, looking back on those memories, it was clear that because they had been focused on something that needed to be stopped, Bucky's actions during the fight at the airport and flying to Siberia, had been clear, not muddled, sharp... focused.

This... the New York rendezvous request, the disabling of the guards, even calling in maintenance for some reason, was... helping? He wasn't sure, but now was not the time to ask. Whatever this was to Bucky, it was clear that it was aiding him in some capacity. Steve wouldn't call it a benefit or a negative, but he would call it something other than possibly seeing his best friend lost and bewildered. He just didn't like the fact that Bucky was most likely utilizing his memories of the Winter Soldier to aid him in this 'sense of purpose', but it was not his place to admonish him.

All Steve could do was watch, wait, and be there to catch him if he fell... to be there, until the end of the line.

He resumed stripping the guard before him of his weapons, arming himself with knives and at least the handgun and clips. Wherever they were, he no longer carried the shield, and knew that it was idiotic to not arm himself. As soon as he plucked the last knife from the guard, he heard Bucky shift before hefting the other guard up as if the guard were just a sack of grain. Bucky headed towards the other end of the container they were hidden behind. He followed suit, and both of them dropped the guards on the ground within the shadow of the shipping container. It was not a moment too soon as Steve heard the footsteps of two maintenance workers approaching.

“Hey, where--”

Neither of the maintenance workers got to say anything else as both he and Bucky sprang forth from the shadows and quickly subdued the maintenance workers, just as quickly as they had the guards. Steve didn't even have to signal for the action – it was as if instinct had overtaken him the second that the workers had entered 'optimal' range.

“Coveralls,” he heard Bucky say as they dragged the bodies a little further behind the container. Steve went back for the ladder and dropped tool box and placed them next to the bodies, as Bucky started to strip the first worker of his coveralls and cap. He did the same to the other maintenance worker and soon, both of them were dressed in the maintenance coveralls that covered their torn uniforms.

With their coveralls' pockets discreetly filled with the various weapons collected, he saw Bucky pick up the radio again and say, “Yep, looks like a bird strike. It's going to take a while to get these operational again. They gotta clean the guts and feathers out.”

“Aw gross, man,” was the reply over the radio, followed by some retching sound. “Dude, don't do that again... not while I'm eating. I'll let Paul and Greg know about the patrol there when they come in.”

Dropping the radio on the ground, Steve gave Bucky a mild look, curious as to what exactly was prompting the improvisation. Considering the folder that Natasha had given him, he didn't think that HYDRA would allow for such improvisation. The words spoken through the radio seemed more towards Natasha's infiltration and 'on-the-run' domain of blending in than what he thought HYDRA would do. He had thought that the Winter Soldier project produced the perfect soldier – the perfect ghost of an assassin.

However, as he thought back to what Bucky had described about the other five Winter Soldiers created, he realized that it was not far-fetched to think that HYDRA made sure there was some leeway in what their operatives were able to do during a mission. He shuddered at the thought of what he had seen in the video footage of that December 16th, 1991 mission – the deliberate positioning of Howard and Maria Stark in their car crash. It had been made to look exactly like an accident.

Bucky's rather loud crunch of him taking a step away on the somewhat gravel covered ground startled Steve from his reverie. He blinked, working the frown that had appeared back up into a neutral look. “Bucky,” he began, “wait.”

Bucky stopped, half turned towards where he hoped the direction of the entrance to the shipping container lot. Steve approached, but didn't say anything as he took up the loose sleeve on his friend's coveralls and tied it into a knot. After a few moments, he reached out and briefly slung his arm over his friend's shoulder, saying, “Let's get going before they wise up.”

* * *

под сапогом.

The sullen faces were familiar to him as he had seen more than one fragment of memory bearing such a look. It was hard to discern at the moment which memories were belonging to James Barnes, and the other to the Winter Soldier, especially since most of the fragments that he had caught a glimpse of were of suffering, carrying out a mission, the bloody aftermath of missions, and of despair in general. The very few happy ones that he had were easily classified as the Barnes memories, but they were too far and too few in between.

Even at this ungodly hour in the night, there were at least five other souls on the dirty, rank-smelling subway carriage that he and Rogers were riding in. All were sitting or standing scattered up and down the length. Every single one of them exuded a wary, hostile atmosphere, even the fifteen others in the five carriages that made up this short subway. Even if it was not showing or plainly visible, he could easily see that some were carrying knives and shivs of sorts. No one had a handgun on them, but they all knew how to handle themselves – including the one tiny Indo-European-looking girl at the front most carriage, who looked drunk off her feet.

It also did not escape his notice that they were clothed in shoddy, old, worn pieces. Even the coveralls he and Rogers were wearing looked and smelled like it had seen much better days. No one was wearing anything new or well cared-for, or expensive things.

As the subway shifted and the high-pitched squeal of brakes being applied he slipped his hand into the pocket that contained the identification that he had taken from the maintenance worker. They hadn't encountered any checkpoints thus far in their crisscrossed rides across the various subway routes to get to Brooklyn, but this was their final stop. From what he remembered of HYDRA and of what he had read they had done during their growth in SHIELD, he anticipated that there would be checkpoints set up.

As the doors opened, letting stale, humid, and warm air in, the passengers shuffled out. Across the platform, another set of carriages opened, and he took a quick glimpse of the passengers spilling out of it. Passengers dressed in opulent, clean clothing were emerging from the carriages, and as soon as their feet touched the platform, a semi-transparent wall that crackled slightly with energy shot up the center of the platform. It was a clear divisor between the well-heeled passengers and those who looked to have emerged from the slums.

под сапогом.

That was also when the first of the many policemen emerged from above ground; their boots rumbling down the stairs as they began to order and push the sullen passengers into a line. He averted his eyes to the ground, following the actions of those around him as he caught a glimpse of the police not even bothering to harass the well-off passengers. Behind him, he could only imagine Rogers tensing up in anger – he had enough fragments to put together that what was happening at the moment was most likely making Rogers angry. A part of him instinctively knew that he should be angry as well, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to care. After the two years he had spent in hiding, only to be flushed out by Rogers himself and Interpol, the atmosphere he felt around him felt... familiar.

The police were only marked with the New York City sigil and colors, but he was sure that they were most likely HYDRA affiliated. It seemed that the thought had crossed Rogers' mind as well, as he felt him back off just a hair away from almost stepping forward to confront the police. The gruff and demanding tone that they used with the passengers in front of him added to the familiarity, and a few moments later, as he took a shuffled step forward, he realized why.

It was not the potential HYDRA affiliation that was causing the familiarity, but rather the fact that he had passed through such a checkpoint before. 1971, crossing back and forth from East to West Germany and back for a mission. He didn't remember the mission, only that the fearful and nervous atmosphere that surrounded those at a particular checkpoint was quite palatable. He himself had no issue crossing, but he remembered that more than a few had attempted to turn tail and run... and had been shot dead.

By his internal clock estimate, at least an hour had passed by, by the time the checkpoint guard had roughly taken his ID away from him. Each person before him had been interrogated for at least a few minutes. The guard gruffly asked, “Name?”

“Peter Gregory,” he stated, keeping his eyes down.

“Job?” the officer continued, slotting his stolen ID into a device that beeped.

“Roxxon Shipping, 2nd shift maintenance crew,” he answered. There had been nothing on that ID that stated anything of the sort except for the maintenance worker's name and the company's name.

It was always a gamble when he had little go on, but considering what had happened, he had to spin and lie his way through, hoping that the lies he told were the truth according to that device. While a part of him considered bolting and running should the worse come to head, he ruthlessly quashed that part. He would not leave Rogers to fend for himself.

“You're off a little early,” the guard stated, though his tone was nowhere near conversational.

“My pal here came down with laryngitis or something,” he said, gesturing to Rogers. “Chief thought it was contagious and sent him home. Since he can't talk, gotta have someone interpreting for him.”

“Let me see your face,” the guard said after a moment, though the clear side-eye that the policeman gave Rogers indicated that he was not happy about potentially dealing with someone who was contagious. “Bell, get me some gloves. I don't wanna have to get these fucking sewer rats' germs on me.”

As another officer went to fetch the items, he lifted his head slightly, but did not push his cap up from where he had worn it low. Nor did he push his hair away. He was quite sure that the ID picture did not match him, and he needed to be as unassuming as possible – to look as vulnerable as possible. A part of him was seething with the fact that he had to look weak. The same part that kept droning: ненавижу это... The one that decided to start writing that new shit list.

In the hour that the guard had taken to get to him he had already found seventy-three points of weaknesses on the guard that were exploitable from where he was standing. Ten of them were immediately in front of him, easily done with a simple raising of his good arm. He needed to resist the urge of the Winter Soldier to lash out and kill all of the policemen in the area.

“So you're going to escort him home and then what?” the guard asked after a few tense moments that was broken only by the other policeman coming back with a pair of blue vinyl gloves.

“Sleep, eat, go to my next scheduled shift,” he answered. He jerked a thumb over towards Rogers, saying, “I'm not this dumbass' guardian. I ain't taking care of him. Just need to get him home per Chief's orders, that's all.”

Surprisingly, the guard snorted before shaking his head. After slipping on the gloves, the guard then said to Rogers, “All right, lets see your ID.”

He saw Rogers out his ID, just as the guard returned the other ID to him. He had caught a glimpse of the name on Rogers' ID before they had donned the coveralls. It was a most ridiculous name, in his opinion. One that he didn't even wish upon his worst enemy. “Mortimer Cartwright,” he supplied, as the guard placed the ID into the slot.

“Yeah, yeah,” the guard said, shaking his head slightly before yanking the ID back out and handing it to Rogers without asking another question. “Geez... you're free to go.”

He blinked once, and turned to leave without another word. It was better not to linger and display any sort of surprise at the lack of interrogation, but it was also clear that the guard wanted any potentially sick person to go as far away and as fast as possible. Rogers hovered close behind him, but didn't say a word as they heard the parting mutterings of the guard calling Rogers a 'sick bag of flea-infested germ incubator'.

“Well, I got called worse after I had an asthma attack in Mr. Carrington's class,” he heard Rogers murmur from beside him as they finally emerged out of the foul-smelling subway station and into the relatively cool and polluted air of Brooklyn. “Thanks for the help, Bucky. Wasn't always good at this whole hiding and blending in thing, even though Natasha tried to teach me.”

“You didn't stop coughing for days, Steve,” he answered as an unexpected, unbidden, and one of the very few sad fragments of his life before war, was called up by Rogers' initial statement. “Becca was crying because she thought that you would die. Mom couldn't console her.”

“You remember that?” Rogers asked in wonderment.

“Some,” he answered, looking away. “отрывок... like an incomplete книга.”

Silence fell between them before he heard Rogers hesitatingly ask, “Do you remember anything else?”

я не знаю.

“No,” he managed to answer instead of answering in Russian. It was difficult for him to control his thoughts and words after Zemo had tried to activate the Winter Soldier program within him without wiping away his memories. The two years he had lived quietly in eastern Europe had allowed him to compartmentalize and sort through many of the fragments. Now, though, they were all scattered again, swirling and threatening to overtake him at times. He had told Rogers the truth – this 'mission' of sorts – trying to find a way back to their reality – was helping him focus. It was the only way he could exert some control over his convoluted thoughts and potential actions.

“It's all right, Bucky. We'll get though this together. You're not alone,” he heard Rogers say, though he could hear a trace of hurt in his tone.

He knew his answer was caustically blunt, but there was nothing that he could do to curb it. Words that he wanted to say from what the fragments told him wouldn't emerge from his lips. Instead, all he could offer in a way of an apology was to say, “'til the end of the line?”

“Yeah,” Rogers answered, nodding as a small smile quirked up the edge of his lips. “Until the end of the line.”

* * *

Dawn was fast approaching by the time they made it down the alleyway to the designated area. Steve had slowed down considerably as Bucky had stopped every so often with a keen gaze on the various buildings that surrounded them. Their darkened windows, the general unsettled stillness, and the heightened sense of danger from the checkpoint guards made him extremely wary.

However, around five hundred feet away from the end of the alleyway that led into an empty lot, a small, rectangular slot no bigger than a doorway, and embedded in the ground slid open. Steve immediately stepped slightly to the side, withdrawing the handgun he had stolen from the shipping container guard, while he heard Bucky do the same. He was not quite standing in front of Bucky, and as much as he wanted to completely shield his best friend with his body, he clamped down on that urge. There was Bucky's pride he dared not trample on, there was purpose in Bucky's actions, and Sam's warning was still ringing in his ears.

Light spilled out as a feminine figure emerged, stopping before them with a satisfied smirk upon her face. “You made it,” the woman stated.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked, not lowering his gun, even though she looked like she was unarmed.

“Stefanie Rogers,” the woman said. “Everyone calls me Stevie. I'm with the Resistance. You?”

“Steve Rogers. What Resistance?” he asked, frowning slightly as he knitted his eyebrows slightly together in puzzlement.

“Against HYDRA,” she answered.

“But--”

“We need to get the two of you below ground before the sun rises,” she said, her friendly tone changing to a no nonsense one. “HYDRA has patrols everywhere. They're mostly plainclothes, but even this part of town is not safe from them.” She gestured with her arm, saying, “Come on, follow me.”

With all things considered, Steve wouldn't have followed her after such a short introduction, but considering her actions at the abandoned building, the checkpoint guards they had encountered, and what she had just stated, he decided to trust her. Sheathing his gun back into the pocket it came from, he heard Bucky do the same a moment later. Together, they approached and followed the woman down the steep stairs, with the slot closing above their heads.

There was illumination lining the walls as they descended, and after a few minutes, they encountered a rather thick metal wall with a single door in the center of it. The woman—Stevie—quickly punched in a long string of code at the keypad and it hissed open. It looked like an elevator of sorts, as she stepped in. He followed her in, and finally Bucky did as well, though Steve noticed that there was some lingering wariness and hesitation in his best friend's movements and steps.

The doors closed, but instead of the flip-flop he expected in his stomach with the descent of the elevator, he instead, felt a tug forward. Puzzled, he glanced over towards Stevie who answered his unasked question with, “It's an elevator of sorts, but more of a people mover to where the Resistance's base is. The sequence I typed out has two triggers – one is for clear, the other is if I'm compromised.”

“So if HYDRA found you before we came, you would've typed in the compromised code and...?” he asked.

“The tunnel would've flooded, drowning me with the other HYDRA agents. The base wouldn't been compromised or found.”

“So we're traveling under water?”

“Under the East River.”

Steve frowned slightly before asking in a more hesitant tone, “How do you know--”

“That you and Bucky,” she began, before glancing over towards Bucky, “I'm going to assume that you have the same name as my reality's James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve saw Bucky give a barely perceptible nod, still wary and tense. Stevie returned her attention to him, saying, “How did I know that you and him weren't HYDRA agents?”

“Yeah...”

“The two of you aren't the first inter-dimensional travelers that we've encountered before. I'm going to assume someone at SHIELD, possibly the Director, managed to secure a certain 0-8-4 that activated a dimensional gateway. That gateway managed to snag you here, which could mean that the Director may have coded it to answer to my signature, hence why you're here. Though if he did... that means things are worse in the outside than I anticipated... Bringing other versions of me or other powered people through usually makes the fabric stitching the 0-8-4 unstable--”

“Wait, SHIELD is still active? Signature? Outside? I don't understand--”

“It's better if I have you guys sitting down before explaining it. The last time I tried to, you... or a version of you just kind of passed out in the elevator,” she said, looking a bit embarrassed and sheepish at the same time. “You... or the other version of you was a little heavy to drag out... Didn't have a Bucky or Falcon counterpart to help me. I'm assuming you have a superhero named Falcon in your reality?”

“Yeah. Sam Wilson,” he said, nodding. “Former Air Force Pararescue.”

“As for your first question,” she said, composing herself, “Well, you aren't ripping your face off to reveal a twisted red skull, and you're not speaking German to me. You're not attacking or railing against the democracy of the world, or spitting epitaphs against my name after learning it. So apart from the fact that your Bucky looks like he's a coiled cat about to hiss at me or spring away, I'm thinking you're not HYDRA. They may have successfully hidden in the shadows, but once they've emerged, its a little hard to hide that arrogance.”

“You got that right,” he couldn't help but mutter, remembering just how openly arrogant many of the agents who were with HYDRA had been during the attack on the Helicarriers and the Triskelion. He turned slightly towards Bucky, seeing that his friend was still warily looking at Stevie. He still wanted to believe in the good hearts of people, but considering what Bucky had gone through, he knew that he shouldn't brush those instincts of his off too easily. The one word description of 'snake' that Bucky had given about Stephanie Rogers was one that he knew he could not dismiss.

Returning his attention to Stevie, he asked, “So you're a double agent? A mole for the Resistance in HYDRA?”

“Yes,” she answered, meeting his gaze with an unflinching look. “I take the world as it is, not as I'd like it to be. If I have to compromise myself to save the lives of many, then I'll gladly do so.”

It was a slap in his face as Steve flinched at those words. It was similar to what Fury had stated to him on the reveal of the Project Insight, and the price paid for such a weapon was the collapse of SHIELD and HYDRA with it. He didn't need to ask any further questions about what exactly had been compromised, what had been done, as it seemed that HYDRA had instead, won. He couldn't bring himself to ask either way, knowing that he had done some hypocritical things himself in recent days.

Tony was right – he wasn't worthy of the shield, worthy of protecting what was just and right anymore. He had chosen his side, and right or wrong, he would stick by and defend Bucky with his life. He had no right to question Stevie, his own counterpart, on what she had done.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized after a few uncomfortable moments of silence.

“Don't be,” she answered, gesturing to Bucky with a slight smile on her face. “It looks like the truth was enough to calm your Bucky down.” Steve glanced over and there was indeed, a much calmer look and air surrounding his best friend. He saw Stevie take a step over and extend out a hand in greeting. After a moment's hesitation, he saw Bucky take the offered hand and shake it before letting go. Stevie stepped back, just as Steve felt the elevator-transport slow down.

His counterpart blew out her breath before saying, “Okay... there's been a recent spate of attacks above ground by HYDRA, so there's quite a few twitchy people. Let me go first. They know me, but they're always wary of new folks, even though those in the command circle have always vetted new folks before bringing them to the base.”

“After you then,” he said, as the elevator-transport doors slid open and she walked out into the seemingly empty corridor. Steve followed a few steps behind her, with Bucky shadowing his side. When they finally turned the corner in the corridor and went through the double doors, it was a rather expansive hall that greeted them. Not only were there many people – civilians and those in the familiar-looking SHIELD uniforms – milling about, but there was a lot of computers, workstations, and even sectioned off areas that looked like labs.

All movement ceased as soon as Steve and Bucky walked through those doors. One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed, as many pairs of eyes were rivited to them. That silence was punctuated not a moment later with someone saying, “Holy shit! What the hell is he doing here--”

“Calm down peoples, he's not who you think he is,” he heard Stevie interrupt, her tone hard and commanding. In just those few words, Steve could feel a frown work its way through his lips. Something about the tone, about the people and where they were exactly staring at was not right. Surely, in this reality--

“Prove it!” another person shouted from somewhere within the crowd. “You know that murderous son of a bitch--”

“You know that I would never--” Stevie raised her voice in protest, as the murmurs from the crowd started to grow. “I found both of them--”

“Oh for God's sake, would you all please shut up and let Captain Rogers explain?!” an unexpected voice pipped up from further away and into the hall, carrying over the din with enough authority to quell most of the murmurs back down to a more manageable level.

“Tony,” Steve couldn't help but let slip as he saw Tony Stark, dressed in his usual civilian clothing wind his way through the crowd before stopping at the edge of the circle that had formed around the three of them. He looked the same, albeit there almost seemed to be a lighter expression in his eyes – as if he were not burdened with the problems that he had seen in his former friend's eyes the last time they had talked.

“I knew it,” he heard Tony state with an equally familiar smirk upon his face. “Didn't want to believe you at first, Stevie, but they passed through processing at that checkpoint with the info you gave me.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Stevie answered, as Steve took a quick glance over to see her nod once with a small smile on her face. Though he was slightly confused at what had just been exchanged, especially with the term 'checkpoint processing', he didn't get to further puzzle it out as his counterpart addressed the crowd, saying, “Look, a 0-8-4 brought them here. They're not of this world at all.”

“Transport scans prove it,” Tony pipped up again, holding up a small semi-transparent tablet in his hand while waving it almost carelessly around.

“And those scans have been independently verified,” another unexpected voice spoke up from the back.

The crowd parted slightly as Steve could not help but openly grin at seeing the last person he had expected to see in this reality. “Sam,” he greeted, managing to stop himself from stepping forward and giving him a hearty embrace.

“Hello, person I don't know but looks like Captain Rogers here,” Sam answered, giving him a slightly bemused yet amused look before looking over to Bucky. “And other person whom I don't exactly know but maybe I should? In whatever reality you guys are from?”

“Director Wilson,” Stevie greeted in a professional tone.

“Captain Rogers,” Sam answered in kind. Steve saw him turn towards the crowd, saying, “All right everyone, back to work. Nothing to see here – these two are cleared, same as everyone else we've taken in.”

Reluctantly and with many still murmuring to their friends, the crowd dispersed and went back to their work. “All right. We'll debrief in my office.”

Seeing that they really had no other choice, Steve followed Sam, with Bucky immediately shadowing him, walking a little closer to him than he normally did. Whether that was a reaction to the unspoken accusations from the crowd he was sure that were directed at Bucky, or otherwise, he didn't confront it yet. He was sure that a few things were going to be explained, and so he would have some patience to wait and listen. However, it did not escape his notice that both Stevie and Tony had taken up the rear, and were bent slightly towards each other, whispering and murmuring about something. Pushing aside the heavy regret that had suddenly settled in his chest for what had happened in that silo, he focused himself on the present. It was clear that this reality's Tony was in lighter spirits and working with the Resistance... or SHIELD, without issue.

They entered Sam's office, which was modest in size, but not so spartan enough that there was at least a worn couch and a couple of chairs sitting in front of Sam's desk. However, there was already an occupant half-lounging on one-half of the couch; a man with light brown, close-cropped hair and dark-colored eyes. It wasn't the fact that the man had a hard light projection of his, Stevie, and Bucky's images from the elevator-transport in front of him with a bunch of scrolling data next to it, that made Steve start. It was the fact that there was a prosthetic leg in the man's hands, and he was fiddling with something inside the prosthetic leg.

“Oh hey, looks like the mob didn't kill them,” the man casually stated, tossing a nearly careless wave at them.

“Something wrong with the leg I made you, Riley?” Tony asked, as they all entered and he closed the door behind him.

“Nah,” the man answered, grinning. “Just wondering how big of a bottle I can carry in the hollow. Or gun size.”

He heard Tony huff and saw him stroll forward, catching just a glimpse of him rolling his eyes in annoyance and irritation. “All right, give me the leg. I'll see what I can do to carve you a little place for whatever booze you want to store. Don't come running to me if the liquid breaks and shorts out the leg though.”

“Guys, this is Riley McIntosh, SHIELD, or what's left of SHIELD's Strike Pararescue leader. Also, he's the second best hacker we have here,” Sam introduced, as Steve saw him gesture for both him and Bucky to take the chairs, while he went around his desk to drag his desk chair to form a small semi-circle in front of the couch. Stevie had taken a seat next to Riley, while Tony absently took the other end of the couch, strangely immersed in fiddling with the leg.

“Second?” Steve heard Riley protest, though there was no malice in his tone. “Seriously? I can beat Agent Johnson any time of the day. Hell, you didn't even ask her to verify the scans.”

“That's because she's occupied with something else,” Tony spoke up, still poking the insides of the leg. “I've asked her to do me a favor, and the Director has kindly allowed me to borrow her skills.”

“And what might that--”

“Okay,” Stevie intervened, spreading her hands and arms out slightly, “Enough. I'm sure our travelers didn't come here to listen to you two bicker and argue.” She gave them both a stern look before returning her attention back onto him and Bucky, saying, “Might as well get introductions started. Captain Stefanie Rogers, Air Force Intelligence, call sign: Captain America. I'm attached to HYDRA, but you two know that I'm just spying on them for SHIELD. You can call me Stevie.”

“Tony Stark,” he heard Tony speak up, still occupied with the leg, “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. CEO of Stark Industries. Used to dabble in defense tech, now I'm doing medical tech, because its so much better than outfitting HYDRA with my tech.”

“So,” Sam began, reaching over to what looked like a mini refrigerator and opened it. Steve saw him reach in and pull out three water bottles, tossing one to him, another to Bucky, and the third one to Stevie. Two more were tossed to Tony, who somehow caught it without looking up, and the other to Riley. Grateful for the water, Steve nodded his thanks, as Sam continued to say, “I'm Sam Wilson, Director of SHIELD.”

“You guys already know me,” Riley stated, grinning as he batted at the hard light projections to stop the scrolling of data.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve introduced himself, deliberately leaving off his former rank and call sign. “I used to be with SHIELD.”

“Used to be?” Stevie asked, just as it looked as if Sam was going to ask the same question.

“Yeah...” he answered, looking down at his water bottle before looking back up. “SHIELD fell when we exposed HYDRA. They're both gone now in our reality.” It wasn't the whole truth, as he suspected that some element of both were still in a power struggle, but those elements had not shaken the world since the collapse.

“Huh, I'd thought you'd be a military man, Rogers,” Tony spoke up, looking up and pausing in his fiddling with the prosthetic leg. “You kind of got that bearing on you.”

Steve could not help but flinch at those words. His fight with Tony was still raw, still hurting like an open wound that stubbornly refused to close. Swallowing, he said, “I... was a captain in the Army. Led the Howling Commandos during the war... and transferred to SHIELD. After SHIELD's collapse... there were some other circumstances that... necessitated me resigning... from another group that defended the Earth that I had ties to. My former call sign was Captain America.”

“Huh... sort of a counterpart then,” Riley spoke up.

“So how about you?” Tony asked, waving the prosthetic in Bucky's general direction.

Before Steve could intervene and speak up for Bucky, Bucky quietly said, “James Buchanan Barnes. Army Sergeant, Howling Commandos. HYDRA captured me, turned me into an agent. The Winter Soldier.”

The silence that fell after that declaration was enough to anger Steve as he saw blank expressions on the others' faces. Riley's expression was the only one to show a little bit of concern, and in response, he said, “Which he is not anymore. He's not HYDRA, and he's not the Winter Soldier. He's Bucky Barnes, my best friend. Everything that he had done as a HYDRA agent was not of his own volition. If you--”

“We're not,” Stevie interrupted him. “I believe you. I believe both of you.”

“It's just that this reality's James Barnes is still a HYDRA agent... and one with an extremely dangerous, and deadly reputation,” Tony spoke up, absently handing back the prosthetic leg to its owner before leaning forward, tenting his hands together. “I'm not sure what this Winter Soldier call sign means in your reality, but this reality's James Buchanan Barnes is known as the Widowmaker. He and the Black Widow are HYDRA's top operatives. Both have killed more SHIELD agents in the past three months than in the years since HYDRA's emergence. Alone, the Widowmaker is credited with at least two dozen assassinations, some with collateral damage up in the hundreds. Combined, the Widowmaker and Black Widow have... well...those two are the reason why SHIELD has been decimated and can't really do anything big to fight back.”

Steve openly frowned as he glanced over towards Stevie, saying, “When you first met us you said that--”

“You must have misheard me, Rogers,” she cut him off, and Steve did not miss the brief warning look that passed through her eyes.

“Sorry,” he apologized, though he set his suspicions aside for the moment, along with the nausea he felt at hearing what this reality's Bucky had done. Focusing back on the subject at hand, he said, “Black Widow. Natasha Romanov?”

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” Riley spoke up, poking on something within the tablet to allow the image of Natasha to pop up on the hard light projection. She looked the same as Steve remembered her, though instead of the signature red hair he remembered, her hair was blonde in color. “We know that Natasha Romanov is one of her many aliases. And that she's a product of HYDRA's Black Widow program. Other than that, nothing else really.”

“She was a SHIELD agent in our reality,” he couldn't help but mutter. “Same call sign... helped me adjust to life in SHIELD after the military.”

“If you're thinking that she can be turned, she can't,” Stevie quietly spoke up. “She's...” she began, but shuddered slightly as if overcome by an awful memory. Steve saw Tony place a comforting hand on her shoulder, holding it there as she continued to say, “She's not someone you save, Rogers. She's someone you stop...someone you kill, and make sure they're dead with three bullets in the head before walking away.”

He had heard fear in peoples' voices before, had experienced fear himself, but the raw, open, unabashed fear within Stevie's tone was absolutely chilling to hear. Before he could inquire further, Sam spoke up, saying, “Back to the elephant in the room: the big question that we can't answer yet is, how the hell to get you back. We've dealt with 0-8-4s before, but nothing that brought two of the same occupants or counterparts to this world. Most of the 0-8-4s also usually manifest at HYDRA's headquarters, not in the middle of podunk nowhere.”

“So we're stuck here?”

“Yes and no,” Stevie spoke up, sitting up a little straighter and more composed than she had been earlier, nodding her thanks to Tony who removed his hand from her shoulder. “Considering that a 0-8-4 has been activated, HYDRA monitors for stuff like that. They will have already known that something happened and go looking for the results of that activation.”

“Most of what we do at the moment is send in pararescue teams to act as medics and get civilians and Inhumans out from the line of fire,” Sam spoke up, taking over from Stevie.

“Inhumans are being hunted here?” he asked. “In our reality, I didn't get much of a briefing on them. Only heard about them in passing.”

“They're powered individuals with all sorts of abilities,” Sam briefly stated. “Terragen crystals are used to transform them from their inert state to Inhuman status. HYDRA's been hunting them for study, control, and possibly army-building purposes. The general theory is that they're attempting building an army of super-soldiers from whatever they extract from captured Inhumans, without resorting to Terragen crystals. We haven't been able to get a lot of details, but we do know that Dr. Leopold Fitz, second-in-command of HYDRA, is in charge of the Inhuman Project.”

“So what's that got to do with the 'yes and no' of Bucky and I being stuck here?” he asked as Sam paused for a moment.

“Well, we're hoping to use at least you, Rogers, as a distraction,” Sam stated before glancing over towards Bucky. “No offense, Barnes, but you running around in the open is going to cause more chaos than we need.”

Sam returned his attention to the group in general, saying, “We know that there's an enclave about fifty miles west of Columbia, Maryland, that has a group of Inhumans there. We settled them there about two years ago, in the hopes that they would be able to live normal lives. HYDRA hasn't had a need to raid to that enclave, but recent Intel points to the fact that one of the Inhumans has woken up from his or her inert state. How, we don't know, but if we don't get them out of there--”

“You want to use the 0-8-4 that brought us here to divert HYDRA's attention?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Sam answered. “Have them trace the 0-8-4 and send out their best to find the anomaly, while SHIELD relocates the Inhuman group. We also need to try to figure out how an Inhuman woke up when all the Terragen crystals are kept under lock and key in HYDRA's R&D labs.”

“How is that going to help us get back to our reality?” Steve hated asking such a selfish question, but being asked to be dangled as bait, especially in front of HYDRA was not appealing. He also did not want to be separated from Bucky, not when he had just been reunited with him. Bucky was his priority at the moment, even though the situation in this reality was dire.

“I'll be with you every step of the way,” Stevie spoke up. “I'll make sure of it. You're not going to get sent back without your Bucky. If they find the 0-8-4, we'll steal it. If they get a lead on it, we'll get there first.”

Steve sighed and glanced over at Bucky who had an imperceptible look upon his face. Returning his attention to the rest of them, he asked, “What was your alternate plan, if we hadn't shown up?”

“I was going to distract HYDRA,” his counterpart answered. Steve frowned at that statement, but received his answer after a moment, with her saying, “I'm an Inhuman.”

He blinked in surprise, staring at her. Of what little he had heard about Inhumans in passing, he had heard that they didn't look human. Perhaps his assumption was wrong and he needed to update that, though this was another reality, so he wasn't confident in his assessment. It was only Riley's quip, “Well, guess that's a major difference between the realities. Our Captain Rogers is Inhuman, this 0-8-4 Captain Rogers is not Inhuman,” that shook him out of his shock.

“Specifically, my abilities give me enhanced strength, speed, vision, hearing... basically a cocktail that HYDRA thinks should be the baseline for a super-soldier,” Stevie said.

“I still don't know how you know all that, Stevie,” Sam said, shaking his head slightly. “Considering that you had to doctor your blood work with HYDRA, I don't even know how you've discovered all that without being caught.”

“Blood work?” Steve asked, concerned.

“HYDRA has the blood work of all of their personnel and those they considered 'subversives'. Thank God for slow processing, but its also how they discover who is Inhuman and who is not,” Sam answered.

“There might be a problem,” he said after a few moments, shifting his water bottle from hand to hand for a brief moment, before looking back up. “I was injected with a super-soldier serum. It's changed me... so I don't know how that is going to look on this HYDRA blood work.” He saw their gazes slide slightly over to Bucky and appended his statement with, “I think Bucky has a variant of the serum as well.”

There was no indication of any answer from his best friend, nor did Steve expect there to be any sign given. While he was glad that Bucky seemed less nervous and more calm, the quietness that he exuded worried Steve. The short introduction Bucky had provided gave Steve hope that perhaps he remembered some things from their days in the Howling Commandos, but also seemed to dash that hope at the same time. He didn't want to leave Bucky alone, yet he couldn't see a way out of the current situation without stepping in and trying to help make it right.

“I think...” Tony spoke up, “I think I might have a solution to that problem... but its going to take me the weekend to work it up. You haven't committed to the plan yet, but I'm going to assume you want time to think about it, right?”

Steve was again, surprised by just how different Tony behaved in this reality when compared to the Tony he knew. While he knew that assumptions were a terrible way to label people, it was difficult for him to shake and start anew with regards to Tony. What had happened in the silo was less than twenty-four hours old – still an open, festering wound. That aside, he also felt like he was missing something incredibly important, but considering what had just been discussed, he knew that he needed the time to process everything. While not as bad as waking up sixty or seventy years into the future, it was still disconcerting.

“Uh, yeah,” he managed to answer. “Please.”

“You have until 18:00 Sunday, Rogers,” Sam stated.

“Thank you,” Steve said, though he belatedly tacked on a ”sir.”

“Guess I wasn't in charge of SHIELD when it went down, in your reality, huh?” Sam said, the familiar grin spreading across his face.

“No,” Steve answered, shaking his head slightly, “but you were present, and survived the fallout.”

“Stevie and I will take them upstairs, away from the mob here,” Tony began, as they all sensed that the briefing was over for now and stood up. “I got a company to tend to anyways. Eight-o-clock meetings aren't going away just because visitors are here.”

“That's fine,” Sam answered, before gesturing to Steve and Bucky, saying, “Might be better to keep the two of you away from down here, even though we've thoroughly vetted you.”

“I understand,” Steve said, stepping forward and shaking Sam's hand before turning to follow his counterpart and Tony out.

“Oh, Stevie, before I forget,” Sam said, causing the four of them to pause, half-way out of the door. “Got some strange comm chatter on subchannel twenty-nine for the past few days. Nothing's big happened since we began to intercept it, but the eggheads can't make heads of tails out of it. Please take a look at it.”

“On it, sir,” Stevie answered, nodding curtly.

As they left Sam's office, Steve couldn't help but notice that the SHIELD security were looking a little more than warily at both him and Bucky, but especially at Bucky. He also caught out of the corner of his eyes, a few personnel peeking down the hall, staring at them. It wasn't the same kind of looks he remembered receiving upon his entrance and acclimation to SHIELD, but it wasn't friendly either. The stares were not overtly hostile, but they were kind of edging into that territory. Bucky was still walking a half-step behind him, but not as close as he initially had been. Still, a protective feeling swooped over Steve as he deliberately shifted over a half-step, shielding Bucky slightly with his body.

He stayed in that formation as their feet carried them through the twists and turns of the halls in this subterranean base. Very few they passed in the halls ignored them, with those who did being scientists buried in their tablets. Thankfully, neither Stevie, who was walking in front of him with a clear military bearing about her, and Tony who was leading them somewhere, tried to engage in any sort of conversation.

Soon, they finally arrived at an elevator that looked so pristine and clean that it looked out of place in the brick-walled underground bunker. Tony stepped up to the panel and tapped a series of numbers before sliding a card into the side of the panel. It dinged opened and he stepped in. Stevie followed him in, standing to the side, and seeing that there was no where else to go, Steve stepped in, followed by Bucky.

It was only after the elevator doors closed and the elevator started to move that an unexpected sound started to softly issue from some speaker hidden somewhere. Steve couldn't help but chuckle as he heard the soft strings of the melody. The tension that had lingered over them during their walk from Sam's office to the elevator had been seemingly swept away with the closure of the doors and start of the tune.

“Beethoven,” he said, smiling slightly. “Never thought I'd hear elevator music ever again.”

“It's about a five minute ride up to where we're going,” Tony stated.

“Five minutes?” he asked, baffled. “Where are we going?”

“You're in Stark Tower, Rogers,” Tony answered. “The Resistance made their base about 100 feet below my basement. I'm dropping you off at the penthouse levels before I have to go ask people why the hell they like to hold meetings so goddamn early in the morning.”

“Stark Tower? But aren't your elevators supposed to be fast? State-of-the-art?”

“It's been deliberately slowed down, to give us time to fill you in on the actual situation,” Stevie spoke up.

Steve remained silent, waiting for either his counterpart or Tony to continue. After a few moments, Stevie took a deliberately deep breath before nosily blowing it out, saying, “You're in the Framework. A simulation. Everything you see around is not real. Just digital simulacrums of the real thing.”

“What?” he asked at the same time Bucky did as well.

Though he had somewhat adjusted to life in the twenty-first century, he knew that he still had a lot to catch up on – the list he had kept not withstanding. He knew of simulations, of how people who were not ready to become full SHIELD agents yet trained – both in a virtual world and in the Training Academy. He had seen the virtual training world once, and found it a poor substitute for the real thing. However, Fury had stated that it helped the younger generation immensely.

“This-” Stevie said, knocking on the back of the elevator's mirror finish “--is not real. It's just digital code.”

Steve couldn't help but reach out and brush his fingers across the mirror before glancing over to his counterpart, saying, “It feels real.” Bucky's thumping of the elevator door with a knuckle briefly diverted his attention as he saw him shrug.

“That's because your mind makes it real.”

Steve frowned at the initial implications of that statement, letting the silence that fell linger as he thought about it a little further. Surprisingly, it was Bucky who spoke up, asking, “If we die here...”

“Yes, you die in the real-world,” Stevie answered, nodding.

Despair suddenly flooded him as Steve thought back to what was said about this reality's Bucky. “HYDRA..” he couldn't help but whisper.

“Is in control of this Framework,” his counterpart answered. “This is how they convert people, make them compliant to HYDRA, harness the once free world under their rule--”

“Because the people were made to be ruled over,” Steve finished up, his jaw set in anger. “That's what Dr. Zola said HYDRA's sole purpose was. To create an order out of the chaos, to give the people a deliberate sense of freedom while deep down, restricting their actual freedom.”

“And they've done so, by catching 'subversives' and implanting them in here. People come out of this Framework different, compliant, and wholly loyal to HYDRA and their New World Order,” Stevie said, nodding. “I was sent in to extract SHIELD Strike Team Bravo. They got captured in the physical world, and placed into the Framework.”

“So this Resistance...?” he began.

“Similar to what we actually face in what's left of SHIELD, except that HYDRA knows that a full brainwashing simulation cannot be forced into peoples' minds. They need a sense of purpose, so they deliberately sprinkled the Framework with pockets of resistance and are slowly eliminating them, using the real-world Inhuman hunt as an excuse. Most of the SHIELD personnel you saw down there are just digital code, characters created from randomness. They don't know that they're not real though.”

If his frown could get any deeper, it tried to, as Steve realized that there was something familiar, similar, and eerie about the pattern. He was no expert, but he had heard enough from his reality's Tony, and read about it enough to take a gander at his theory. “It sounds like there's an AI controlling the Framework.”

“Wow,” Tony spoke up, “I'm actually impressed, Rogers. You're right. There is an AI controlling the Framework. Her name is Ophelia Hydra, though everyone refers to her as Madam Hydra. She's the head of HYDRA within the Framework.”

“SHIELD, real-world SHIELD knows for a fact that a woman named Ophelia is also in charge of HYDRA. There's a strong theory going around that they're one in the same, and that Madam Hydra can travel between both the Framework and the real-world,” Stevie explained. “If that's true, she's the only one who can freely travel of her own will. Anyone who gets placed in the Framework cannot get out without her say so.”

“So we're stuck?” Steve asked.

“Not quite,” she answered, before gesturing to Tony. “Tony and Agent Johnson have been trying to find a way to create a backdoor, an exit, without Madam Hydra detecting it. When I entered the Framework, the exit I came in with was quickly detected by Madam Hydra and deleted. Fortunately, that detection also masked the other bits of code that Director Coulson managed to sneak in.”

“Wait, so Sam isn't Director outside of the Framework?” he asked, gesturing to the elevator.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly as she briefly looked down before looking back up. “Both Sam and Riley died during a mission to extract agents in the Baltic. They're just code here, and they don't know that. I don't think they'd even believe me if I told them that they're not real.”

Steve was silent for a few long moment as he tried to puzzle out what had just been told to him, versus what he had just been debriefed with, within Sam's office. “So,” he began, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I'm real. Bucky's real.”

“Well, you both are certainly not from this reality. The scans, even in code, don't lie. Neither of you vibrate quite at the frequency even digital code such as I vibrate as,” Tony said, shrugging slightly.

“Wait, digital code such as... you?” he started, gaping slightly at Tony.

“AI,” Tony said in a tone that was tinged with the usual wisecracks Steve had heard countless of times from his reality's Tony. “Tony Stark, AI CEO of Stark Industries of the Framework. I'm the bit of code Director Coulson managed to sneak in when Stevie here jumped in.”

“I'm real, Rogers,” Stevie said before Steve could fully recover from his surprise. “So is Agent Johnson. She's a member of Strike Team Bravo. She was one of the first persons I managed to extract from HYDRA.”

“How many more?” he asked, managing to recover a little by focusing back on his counterpart and her true mission.

“Five total,” Stevie answered. “Johnson, Falsworth, and Morse are clear of HYDRA. Falsworth and Morse are scouting out possible waypoints for exits.”

“The other two? Where within HYDRA are they?”

The silence that followed his question made Steve uneasy, but he didn't get an answer to his question when the elevator dinged, signaling that they had arrived. The doors opened to an opulent and spacious living room that was reminiscent of what he remembered Tony's place to look like – albeit that this did not look like it had gone a few rounds with an Asgardian and Hulk. There was already an occupant in the middle of the room, sitting on the plush-looking leather couches, hunched over a laptop. The woman looked up, her furious typing slowing down to a trickle, as she blinked and stared at them in surprise.

“Captain Barnes?!”

“Not the Captain Barnes you and I know, Agent Johnson,” Stevie said, as Steve saw her turn slightly back and nod towards the elevator. That was when he noticed that Tony had not gotten off the elevator with them. “I'll see you in a few hours, Tony. Have fun yelling at lines of boring corporate code.”

“You know I will, sweetie,” Tony answered in a jovially sarcastic tone as the elevator doors closed.

Before Agent Johnson could say anything else, Stevie returned her attention to them, all traces of levity gone as she said, “The other two of Strike Team Bravo, Rogers, are his counterpart--” she pointed to Bucky “--and Leopold Fitz. The Widowmaker and the Doctor.”

* * *

...который час?

He blinked at the sudden intrusion of the thought as he paused in the middle of writing down a fragment of his memories to look up. Far be it that Agent Daisy Johnson, who had been sitting at the other end of the table for the better part of the last half-hour, had stopped glancing at him every few minutes. She had now stopped typing and had picked up her laptop and was making her way towards him. Just as she sat down, uninvited and across from him, he closed the notebook that he had been writing in.

Rogers had found the notebook in one of the many laboratories that dotted the top ten floors of Stark Tower, after Rogers' counterpart had insisted that they should rest. That not-so-subtle order to 'rest' had been ten and a half-hours ago, giving them time to clean up, shed their dirty coveralls, empty the coveralls of their stolen weapons, find some clean clothes, and get something to eat. The eating part had been a little strange to him, as he couldn't help but wonder what exactly was the equivalent of digital food to the real-world simulated reality he and Rogers had landed in.

The clean clothes had been a welcomed change, even for the various fragments that showed him outfitted in the same combat outfit time and again as the Winter Soldier. He never did recall if his handlers had ever given him a fresh change of clothes, since he had been frozen time and again in the same outfit. The cargo pants he wore were of a dark color, as was the long-sleeved shirt. Where the stump of his arm was, was tied off, done by Rogers again. He had managed to mutter his thanks for the assistance that Rogers had given so that he did not have to try to dress himself with one hand. At the moment though, Rogers was somewhere within the ten floors, most likely getting the rest of his questions answered by his counterpart.

As much as he wanted to hear what Rogers' counterpart was answering of the many question he too had about what the hell was going on, a more pressing matter had arrived in the form of a rather persistent headache. It wasn't until he started to write down the words within the notebook that the headache started to ease. Bit by bit, word by word, the pressure was lessening. It was only after three full pages of words that he realized what he was experiencing was not the scattered shards, but something he had been seeking since the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA – a full, continuous memory.

However, that was being interrupted at the moment by the fairly attractive SHIELD agent with her laptop. “What?” he asked, though it was not his intent for the question to come out as brusquely as it did. He was, however, glad that he managed to hold onto speaking in English instead of Russian that threatened to creep into his vocabulary whenever he opened his mouth to talk.

If Agent Johnson was offended with his rude tone, she didn't show it. Instead she opened her laptop again, but did not start typing. Instead, she stared at him, her eyes searching over him as if she were looking for something or just observing. He did not flinch from it, as he found it annoying to the point where he was about to get up and leave.

“Does it hurt?” she suddenly asked, before he could scoop up his notebook and pen into his hand. Something akin to pity flickered behind her eyes, as he stared at her, wondering what she was trying to get at. “That,” she repeated, gesturing to his stump. “Does it hurt?”

As much as he wanted to tell her off, she immediately followed her question up with, “Sorry, sir... its just I know you... my CO, but I don't know you. I think I can tweak the code in the Framework without Madam Hydra noticing, to lessen the phantom limb pain, if its bothering you.”

He stared at her, surprise filling him from her words. The pain licking up his stump was like an inferno that wouldn't stop. He had managed to shove it to the side and resolutely ignored it to the point where he had almost forgotten it existed. It had only been Johnson's words that brought a trickle of that compartmentalized pain back to the forefront. Instead of directly answering her, he asked, “You've done the same for others down below? The other digital agents?”

“Yeah, but its a little easier when they're just code. Aberrations and evolution of random ANN code is expected to self-tweak so that they can adjust to the ever changing environment of the Framework,” she answered. “It's a little more difficult for real people like you and me, but I think I can do it... only if you want me to, sir.”

“I'm not your CO, Agent Johnson,” he answered.

“I know, but I can't help it,” she said, grinning. “You got a sort of military swagger like Captain Rogers and her counterpart. I don't know the whole story behind the two of you, but I have to bet on the fact that both of you were part of the armed forces. My CO is, but he doesn't have that same swagger – he's just... or was...”

She fell silent, her attempt at some levity dropping like a heavy stone as worry creased her eyebrows and she glanced back down at her laptop for a moment. As much as it intrigued him, it also disturbed him that his counterpart in this reality was a complete mirror of him... before he had been released from his mental prison within HYDRA. What was stated down below in that briefing, was true; it rang true in his heart. He had seen the files dumped on the internet, the number of kills associated with the Winter Soldier – and the collateral damage that had accompanied some of those kills.

ненавижу это...

Another focus point, another thing to add to his shit list. Was it not enough that he had stared at the mirror after cleaning himself up only hours ago, and saw a face that he did not recognize but knew that he should have? It had only been Roger's image reflecting in the mirror a few minutes after that, standing behind him along with Rogers' warm, familiar hand on his shoulder, that had shaken him out of that fugue. Belatedly, he had realized that he had been standing in the bathroom for a little too long that Rogers had gotten worried that he had done something stupid.

Now, Stevie Rogers was facing the same thing that his Steve Rogers had and still was facing.

He didn't want to face another mirror again – look at the same eyes that couldn't tell him anything of his own self; of who he was now. As much as Rogers insisted that he was worth it, he didn't feel so at the moment – not when he wanted to remain where he was, and never come face-to-face with the Widowmaker. He had his memories, even if they were millions of fragments and five pages of written, coherent words thus far. He didn't want to look at the face of a blank slate again--

It was the elevator doors pinging open that thankfully brought him out of his circular thoughts as he saw Rogers and his counterpart walk out, with Rogers asking, “So you're not actually an Inhuman?”

“Nope,” she answered. “It's a little easier for the Resistance to swallow that, rather than say that I'm a super-soldier and that everything that made me special came from a bottle. They'd think I was a product of the Doctor's experiments and not trust me at all.”

“Oh,” Rogers said, looking a little regretful. “Guess I shouldn't have said that to Sam and Riley.”

“Well... you and Bucky here are 0-8-4's, so you probably will get a pass.”

Just as the two approached the table, the elevator dinged again and when the doors opened, the smell of good food wafted through the air, as Stark stepped out with what looked like a large bag of take out food in one hand, and a large and long briefcase in his other hand. “Dinner is served,” he heard Stark casually state as he walked to the other end of the table, placed both the bag of food and briefcase down. “Hope you guys like Lebanese food.”

“And before you ask, you two,” Stark continued, pointing at both him and Rogers, “yeah, you can refuse to eat, but remember, your mind is translating that to whatever IV nutrition is hooked up into you. You're essentially denying the absorption of saline and other stuff in the real-world.”

“Which is what I wanted to clarify,” he heard Rogers say, as he made to get up, not wanting to stay and be party to a meal with others. Unfortunately, Rogers had taken his standing up as an attempt to help, and eased him back down into his seat with a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Don't worry, Buck, we got this.”

He knew that he could choose to be rude and just leave, but the guilt that swept over him, independent of the fragments of his memories, prevented him from leaving. He had already caused Rogers too many wounds, both emotional and physical – the years that he had spent living in eastern Europe far and away from him – being the biggest cause. He wanted to mentally heal, find out who he now was, but he also did not want to continue to worry Rogers... and thus he stayed, even though he did not want to.

Remaining where he was, he listened as Rogers continued to say to his counterpart, “So you said your theory is that Coulson stole the 0-8-4 from HYDRA and activated it. But instead of bringing an ally that you guys had met before, it brought Bucky and me here. Rather than send us back, he shoved us into this Framework?”

“Yep,” Rogers' counterpart nodded as plates, cutlery, and dishes of food packed in plastic containers were spread out along the table. “We used to be in possession of that 0-8-4 and had a frequency that we could tune to, to bring Ghost Rider to here. He had owed us for something and my guess is that Coulson wanted to cash in on that.”

“So,” Rogers said after a few moments of everyone arranging themselves at the table before sitting down. The large briefcase was still at the other end, and no one had inquired of what it was yet. “Wouldn't announcing that a 0-8-4 brought us here to HYDRA, even in the Framework, alert them to the missing artifact?”

He poked at the food that was on his plate as he listened to the discussion. He wasn't hungry, even after over ten hours of not eating anything, but with what Stark at stated, refusing to eat would just worry Rogers even further. He took a few tentative bites as he heard Stark answer, “That's the beauty of the Framework – its adaptive to the situation. Like we said earlier, HYDRA may have already picked up on a 0-8-4 activation, both within the Framework and outside of it.”

“If they have already picked up an activation, they'll already be looking for traces of it,” Rogers' counterpart stated. “Fortunately, the Zephyr that the two of you, me, my team, and the Director are on, is cloaked and shielded. They won't be able to find us in the real world.”

“Your team?” Rogers asked after a few moments.

“Strike Alpha,” she answered. “None of them are in the Framework. It was too risky to send a full team, not after Strike Bravo got captured. We can't pinpoint where people will end up once they land in the Framework. Besides, someone's got to help Coulson run the Zephyr and monitor the outside situation. Once we get all of Strike Bravo out, we'll hopefully have a pinpoint location of where exactly they are. We fly the Zephyr in and Strike Alpha will go and bust that HYDRA base.”

“We help you get the other two of Strike Bravo out of the Framework, and then we can go back to our reality then?” Rogers asked.

“Its voluntary,” Rogers' counterpart answered. “You don't have to go to HYDRA headquarters with me. You and Bucky can stay here, or help scout out potential exit locations that Agent Johnson needs. Once the exit is built and secured--”

“Getting the hell out of this freaky world,” Johnson spoke up, looking relieved. She grinned as she sipped the glass of water in her hand.

“Hey, remember, you got all weekend to think about it,” Stark reminded them.

He saw Rogers frown, staring at his nearly-finished plate of food before looking back up, asking, “So that story earlier about those Inhumans you settled and are being hunted by HYDRA... its not true?”

“Its all true,” Rogers' counterpart answered. “Specifically, the Inhuman that SHIELD is protecting is little girl named Robin. She's dead in the real-world, but whether it was a quirk of the Framework or something else, she got reincarnated here just as she was in the real-world. She has the ability to catch glimpses into the future. SHIELD lost that edge against HYDRA when Robin died in the real-world. If she is the Inhuman who woke up, then we need to bring her in. If not, we relocate them again.”

“But why--” Rogers began.

“HYDRA has sensors,” Stark answered. “Too many Inhumans or groups of humans in one area, and it sets off an alert. That's why they're scattered everywhere whenever we relocate them. Only immediate family members don't get separated. It's how they're also trying to weed out the Resistance and prevent protests from successfully rising up. We're already monitoring the situation. HYDRA knows that Stevie comes up to New York over the weekends. To preserve her cover, we don't normally make a move during the weekends, unless we need to.”

He caught Rogers' glance over towards him, and knew that look. No memories or their fragments needed to assist him in understanding that look. It was something that felt old and familiar, that he knew the look was something signature to Rogers. Rogers, for all of his bleeding heart and who wore his emotions on his sleeve, wanted to help these people. Yet he knew that Rogers was most likely also feeling guilty about leaving him alone. He knew that he didn't need a babysitter, but he had to admit to himself that Rogers' presence was a source of calm and comfort – not just for his scattered memories.

я не знаю.

He averted his eyes and pushed a couple of pieces of lamb around his plate. A few moments later, Stark spoke up, saying, “We already have an alternate plan, Rogers. You don't—Christ, why do you always look like I punched you whenever I say something to you, Rogers?”

He looked up, seeing that there was a slightly exasperated yet annoyed look on Stark's face, while Rogers had opened his mouth once before closing it, lips thinning slightly. “That's because you tried to kill me, and I tried to kill you... about twenty-four hours ago,” he said, absently pushing a piece of lamb around the plate again. He nodded towards Rogers, saying, “He got tangled up in it. Simple as that.”

“Bucky...” Rogers began, despair coloring his tone.

“Wait... wait, wait, wait, wait,” Stark said at the same time, giving both of them in incredulous look. “What?! What the hell would I... or your reality me do that for?”

“I killed your parents,” he stated, eyes straight on Stark, completely ignoring Rogers' attempt to stop where this was headed towards. “ _I_ killed your parents,” he repeated.

“As the Winter Soldier, and not of his own volition,” Rogers immediately followed up, anger clear in his tone.

“And the Winter Soldier is a part of me,” he quietly answered that declaration, finding himself unable to meet Rogers' eyes. “It will always be a part of me.”

The silence that fell was extremely uncomfortable, to the point where he was considering getting up and leaving. It was broken a few minutes later, when he saw Stark fold his hands together, rest his elbows on the table and rest his chin on top of his hands. “HYDRA killed them. It doesn't matter who pulled the trigger, it was HYDRA. They're the ones responsible for every single death. The one who pulled that trigger will always have to live with the consequences, but if the organization behind him or her can be brought down or to justice, then maybe... just maybe the weapons they forged can finally find a small measure of peace.”

He noticed that while Stark was seemingly addressing either him or Rogers, or both, Stark was staring at Rogers' counterpart from across the table while speaking those words. There was no reply, but he saw the minute tightening of Rogers' counterpart's jaw in response to those words. It was only when Rogers broke the silence saying, “You're dead, Tony... in this reality, in the real-world, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am,” Stark answered, giving both of them a plain, open, and frank look. “HYDRA assassinated me, but rather than linger on such things, lets think about some forward action.” He saw him get up and saunter over to the briefcase. Opening it with a slight flourish, Stark then turned the briefcase towards them, displaying the content within.

Nestled within the dark foam cushions was a sleek-looking, black, prosthetic arm. Fibrous-looking, segmented plates representing the deltoid muscle swept down from the shoulder to a nodule. That was wrapped in the biceps muscles, with the triceps and anconeus muscles peeking out on the underside of the arm. These were all connected further into another nodule where the brachialis swept into the elbow. All in all, the arm looked as if it were just an unskinned version of a human arm with musculature showing, except completely shiny black in color.

“That is one sexy looking arm,” Johnson quipped. “Kind of like the Ferrari of arms.”

“It was the only one I could find on short notice,” Stark stated, shaking him out of his staring at the arm. “First and only prototype that I built for the military in the real-world before I went into medical prosthesis. I was surprised that they had made a copy here in the Framework, but its still usable. Should help lessen then phantom limb pain, Sergeant Barnes. If you want it.”

He blinked, staring at Stark in surprise, disbelieving at the sheer generosity that Stark was displaying after what had been said a few minutes ago. A sense of uncertainty, coupled with a heavy dose of guilt followed that disbelief. He had been wrong, so wrong to place assumptions on Stark upon meeting him. All he had for memories and opinions on Stark started from being flushed out of hiding, to the fight they had engaged in, in that silo – his looking up the Avengers on the internet notwithstanding.

“я прошу--” he began, but forcibly corrected himself, saying, “I'm sorry...”

“I can't say that I forgive you, because I'm not your reality's Tony, but right now, the two of you have been forcibly dragged into another war. I'm of the mind to give you guys any advantage to survive until you get home.”

“I'm not going to defend what Coulson did to them is right or wrong, Tony,” he heard Rogers' counterpart say. “But I believe that he has his reasons as to why he didn't just send Steve and Bucky back to their reality.”

“The arm,” he interrupted before either of them, Rogers, or Johnson could say anything else, “what is it made of?”

At this, he saw Stark grin before thumping the arm with a knuckle, saying, “Vibranium. Got a small sample of it from King T'Challa of Wakanda. Was trying to see if I could make a prosthesis without the brittleness of carbon fibre, but still had the light weight strength of titanium.”

“Specs?” he questioned.

“Nanoblade embedded into the forearm portion, so think of it like knife you can retract and extend when needed, if you're ever in CQC. Was going to try to embed an EMP or grappling hook into the arm, but didn't get time to.”

Slowly, he pushed back his chair and stood up, glancing down for a moment to see concern mixed with something else he couldn't identify in Rogers' eyes. To his relief, Rogers did not even utter his name in a plaintive tone for the moment – it always made him feel a small measure of blame that that tone meant that he was causing Rogers to worry. He focused back on the arm and where Stark was and made his way down the table.

Stopping in front of the open briefcase, he stared at the arm, eyes running up and down the smooth edges of the segments that roped and linked the 'muscles' together. Reaching out with his hand, he lightly brushed his fingertips over the surface of it. He knew that if he took this arm, he would be returning to war. What floodgates of the Winter Soldier memories it would open was still unknown, but he also knew that there was a chance that those memories would suppress the memories of who he was before. It was a two-way street, and one that he did not know if he should walk upon.

However, there were options, and thus in past hours since they had been 'resting' up in the penthouse floors, he had not been disturbed except by Agent Johnson's query about his phantom limb pain. Johnson had also not asked him for any help with whatever she was doing, and neither did the digital representations of SHIELD down below had asked either him or Rogers for help. They had allowed them the freedom of choice – to choose to remain passive, active, or a combination in between. All he and Rogers had to really do was make sure that they were in the right place at the right time to get out of the Framework.

я не знаю.

He glanced back down the table, catching a surprisingly soft yet understanding look in Rogers' counterpart's eyes. Rogers, sitting on her right and further down still looked concerned, but whatever else had been there a moment ago was gone now. He didn't know what to do and yet he did. Right now, he knew that in order for him and Rogers to survive what they faced, he needed to plunge back into the memories he wanted yet hated. He was not the Winter Soldier, he was a winter soldier.

“I accept,” he stated, returning his attention to Stark as he felt it most appropriate to extend his hand out, “Thank you.” Stark grasped his hand with a surprisingly firm grip and shook it before letting go.

“And I'll come with you, Stevie, to HYDRA headquarters. I'll help get the rest of Strike Bravo out,” he heard Rogers state after a few moments, as he caught Rogers' eyes on him, with a familiar smile spreading across his lips that looked as if dawn had broken across the night. “We both will.”

In a way dawn had come, as James Buchanan Barnes nodded in return. He was not Rogers' 'Bucky' and knew that he would never fully return to being that man, but yet he also wasn't the Winter Soldier. For now, he was who he was: a man with a million shards of falling memories piecing all of them back together.

 

~*~*~*~

 


	2. Memory: желание

 

_**Begin Memory: желание** _

_Year: 1943, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Location: Azzano, Italy, no additional fragments_

 

“James...Buchanan...Barnes...”

It was hard to breathe, much less talk, but Bucky knew that if he kept repeating his name, rank, and serial number, maybe... just maybe they would stop, make it all stop. He could feel himself involuntarily arch slightly as something burned inside of him, starting at his right elbow. That fire crawled up his arm and he could feel it spreading across his chest with each pounding beat of his heart. Someone one was muttering something...

“Sergeant,” he managed to say, as the agonizing fire licked its way down his body, warming certain parts of him that did not feel pleasurable at all. “One.. oh... seventh--”

This time, he could not suppress the scream that erupted from his lips as the fire had now reached his feet and seemed to grow ten fold. His eyes snapped open, only for him to find his vision awash in harsh light, as the flames burned and licked their way under his skin, traveling back up through his legs.

“Two, six...” he huffed out, trying to not squirm as it only made the pain from the needles stabbing him worse. Dammit, his serial numbers were wrong as he tried to focus, squeezing his eyes shut and tried to not continue to scream.

Suddenly, he could not draw breath anymore as he felt a vice-like thing squeeze his chest. The light that now shone into his eyes seemed so angelic, so calm as he stared up at them and wondered if he was now going to die, to be rid of the agony of being imprisoned in his body forever--

The odd ringing in his ears wouldn't stop as Bucky blinked and found himself surrounded by relative darkness. At least he thought it night time, as he could barely see the outline of the cell that he had been placed in. The fire that had burned through him was completely gone, but there was some lingering pain that crawled under his skin like a persistent itch would. He shifted slightly on the cold, hard ground... which was the wrong thing to do.

He suppressed the yelp that threatened to escape his clenched teeth, but could not suppress the groan that came after it as the persistent itchy pain flared up into something that felt like he had been touched with the hot engine cover of a car. Stilling himself, it eventually faded as he tried to look around without moving himself. He could hear nothing of the sort, and the temperature in this cell was chilly. He was still fully clothed, albeit wearing only a thin layer, as he felt rough cloth scrape ever so 'gently' across his skin.

The chill was a godsend though, as he tried to wrap his mind around it, trying to embrace something that he could not, to calm himself down. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he softly stated. “Sergeant, 107th Infantry, Able Company...”

He repeated it, over and over again until he was parched, until his voice was hoarse, until he could only whisper it into the wall. He repeated it until it became more than just words, it became the only way for him to tell time. Still no one came to drag him out, to beat him, to shoot him and end his life – allowing for the sweet release, the longing for death he had. He just wanted it to end. He just wanted to die.

He must have said those words at least several hundred thousands of times, pausing only when felt himself fall asleep, only to be woken up by the persistent faint ringing in his ears that wouldn't go away. He lost count, but it didn't matter anymore as piercing light that drilled deep into the back of his mind shined upon him. His lips formed the words but he could not voice it anymore.

Two people grabbed him roughly by his arms, sending a wave of pain shooting through him. He tried to scream, tried to cry out, but like his words, he couldn't make a sound. He felt like he had been doused in stale ale, diving into a fight in the back alleys after Steve had taken offense at something. The thought of his best friend sent another wave of agony through him. He wanted to live, wanted to see Steve again, but also wanted for everything to end – to just make the pain stop.

_Fight!_

Whether it was delirium talking in the voice of Steve or the fact that somehow, the single burning thought of him was enough to stab through the haze of pain – it was enough. Galvanized, he determination swept through him, driving the everything into a pinpoint clarity for one moment. It was all he needed as he forced himself to stand, to unbalance the two guards holding him.

But it was not enough, even with the memory of Steve driving him to fight, to defend himself, as he felt himself being kicked and punched from all sides. Collapsing onto the ground in a heap as his momentary strength fled from him, he tried to curl his arms around his head. Even then, they showed no mercy, as he saw stars float across his eyes, and finally darkness.

It was the whimper that escaped his lips that woke him up as he opened his eyes and saw the familiar ceiling above him. He was strapped down to the cot again, and managed to hiss just as something pricked his skin right above his left elbow, sending a wave of pain crawling down to his fingertips. A voice muttered something, and he managed to push aside the haze he swam in to see a bespectacled man with a round, balding head, peering over at him before turning away from his view.

“James...” he began, trying to form words as a new sort of fire bloomed where the needle had been. It didn't feel like the many other types of fire that he had experienced crawling over, under, and through him – this was wholly different. This was a sharp one that seemed to completely dampen his senses, and sent him back into oblivion--

Footsteps awoke him from the darkness as he slid his eyes over to see the familiar rotund, balding face of the white-coated person, saying something to him. He couldn't hear what the man was saying, and tried to move – only for a ice-cold prickling sensation to crawl up and down his skin whenever he pulled. Something sharp was pressed into him again, and he tried to shy away, but couldn't. His body felt so heavy, so tired – why couldn't the man just end it? Why couldn't they just let him die?

Dizziness clawed at him a moment later as he felt himself spiraling out of control – as if the Cyclone on Coney Island decided to become a tight spiral that wouldn't end. He retched, fire burning up his lungs and into his mouth as he coughed several times. Each one felt as if someone was beating him with a baseball bat made of unbreakable bricks.

“...Barnes,” he tired to whisper, tried to say his name, to give the man who keep injecting him with things a reason to kill him now and be done with it. He knew nothing anymore, couldn't say anything anymore, and just wanted it to stop.

Still it didn't, as another burning sensation bloomed from his other arm, carrying what felt like a thousand small blades being cut into his skin. It crawled over his chest and onto his back; up his neck and covered his face. He tried to yell, tried to scream, but nothing emerged as he felt himself open his mouth and stay there for what felt like forever. He couldn't even move to try to curl in upon himself.

Whatever had paralyzed him eventually wore off, but not until he acutely felt the ache, and tried to unclench muscles that were not used to being in certain positions for hours upon end. He didn't even get to completely close his mouth before exhaustion and the sweet darkness of completely oblivion swept over him, sending him once again into darkness, but not death.

It was footsteps again that woke him up once again, though a flood of utter exhaustion seemed to grip his body, that was swiftly followed by a searing flash of pain that ripped up and down his body as he tried to move. “Ja...” he tried to say, tried to stave off another round of things that the bald-headed man was going to put into him. “Barnes...one...seventh...”

Those footsteps got closer until they stopped, and he heard an unexpected voice exclaim, “Bucky?!”

Heavy eyelids scraped over his eyes as he blinked. Surely he was dreaming; the face peering over at him couldn't be-- “Steve?” he whispered, desperately hoping that it was true, and that he was not seeing his best friend's face in the last moments of his life.

“Hang on, I'll get you free.”

Maybe he was dying, maybe that bald-headed, white-coated man was finally putting end to his misery... or perhaps not, as he distinctly felt, along with the lancing pain running down his legs, the straps that had been wrapped around his wrists and ankles being loosened. He was helped up, and tried to suppress the groan of pain as the movements nearly sent him back into oblivion. Forcing himself to stay awake, he tried to stand as best as he could, though his legs seemed to have other opinions and didn't want to support the rest of him.

Fortunately, even with the intense amount of pain shooting inside of him as one would shoot mortars to bombard an open field, he remained as upright as possible, leaning against Steve-- His thoughts screeched to a halt, as did the pain for one moment of clarity. He was _leaning_ against Steve... not toppling Steve over like he used to whenever he had gotten too drunk to stand on his own.

His eyes focused on the leather jacket that his friend wore, and he realized that he was staring at Steve's chest where it was usually the top of Steve's head. Baffled, his eyes traced downwards – he didn't remember Steve being large, but rather stick thin and skinny that even he sometimes worried that Steve wasn't getting enough to eat. His eyes traveled up, and he knew that if he was standing at his full height, he would be equal to Steve's height--

“You...got bigger...” he managed to croak out, drawing Steve's gaze from wherever he had been looking towards him.

“Joined the army,” Steve quipped before readjusting his hold on him. “Come on, we got to go.”

Bucky wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted to say a dozen absurd things to Steve, to thank him, but he was spent. There was nothing he could do or give at the moment – he was too exhausted and in too much pain. Despite it all, his longing for death had been granted a reprieve, and he wasn't about to waste it. All he could do now was survive, because he longed to live.

 

_**End Memory: желание** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	3. ржавый (Rusted)

 

**Chapter 2:** **ржавый** **(Rusted)**

 

“ _I need to be put under.”_

“ _We'd have a better gauge of your response to the prosthetic if you were awake for the procedure, Barnes. We can just give you a general anesthetic around the implant area, if you're worried about the initial interface pain.”_

“ _I_ **need** _to be put under. Please.”_

“ _But--”_

“ _Sam, just do it. Please. Just please do what Bucky's asking for.”_

 

Steve watched, worried and apprehensive, as Sam, Tony, and Riley finished up the last of the procedure to graft the new prosthetic arm onto Bucky. The pleading tone that had accompanied Bucky's request to be put completely under still chilled him to his bones. It sounded so desperate, so helpless, that he couldn't stand to hear it again. He didn't know what memories had triggered it, but he had to guess that Bucky had been awake when HYDRA had grafted the silver arm onto him.

Clenching a fist, he wished that there was some way he could take those horrific memories away, to take his best friend's pain away, but he knew that it was a futile thought. There was just so many things he wanted to do, to go back in time and change – to fix. If only he hadn't ordered that they zip down onto Zola's train... If only he had made sure that that HYDRA soldier had been killed... If only--

“Steve.”

Warm hands encircled his clenched ones as he opened his eyes to see that his counterpart was standing in front of him. Blue-green eyes that mirrored his own stared back at him, seemingly searching for something before she let his hands go and stepped to the side, watching the procedure through the glass window that separated them from the make-shift operating room. He didn't know whether it was her presence or not that calmed him down enough for him to uncurl his hands.

The fact that it was unstated; she too would soon face was he was facing at the moment, after they rescued her reality's Bucky. He didn't know if facing what was going on at the moment with Bucky would prepare her, but her presence next to him at the moment helped suppress the many regrets that swam within his mind.

“We need to leave soon,” he heard her say, as he saw Tony step to the side and tap on a few things on a monitor that controlled the anesthetic that had been given to put Bucky completely under.

While the procedure should have been done in a hospital, because of circumstances, they had to perform it here without actual surgeons or nurses. The only fortunate thing was that because Tony was an AI, he had been able to easily to grasp how to perform the procedure. Riley and Sam were monitoring not only the the anesthesia levels, and other things, but they were also assisting with the surgery, due to their medic training.

“Can I...” he began, hesitating for a moment. “I want to stay until he's awake. Is that possible?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “I'd ask the same in your shoes. Your Bucky... he's been through so much... and...”

“You're afraid that something similar has happened to your Bucky?” he asked as he saw Tony begin to adjust the anesthesia levels, slowly bringing Bucky back up to consciousness.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her nod. “I see him,” she gestured slightly towards Bucky, “and I'm afraid that after all that my Bucky's done in the Framework, I won't be able to reach him as you have done to yours.”

“How... how did you get the other agents out?” he asked.

“Cognitive re-calibration,” she answered. “I hit them really hard on the head and then dragged them to safety. Daisy Johnson was the first one I reached, since she's an Inhuman, and they would have already marked her blood. The others... Bobbi Morse and Montgomery Falsworth... they had done a few things in the name of HYDRA before I could re-calibrate them, but nothing on the magnitude of what Bucky and Leopold Fitz have done.”

She fell silent and it was only a few moments later that Steve found the courage to say, “It will take time, Stevie. Even now--” he hesitated before gathering up his wits and continued to say, “--even now, he's not... the Bucky I knew. I don't think he'll ever be who he was.” He had whispered that last statement, but even as he tried to deny it, he knew it to be true. He could never fully get his best friend back. Bucky was not the Winter Soldier anymore, but the memories of what he had done remained.

“But that doesn't mean that either of us will abandon them,” he finally said after a moment of silence.

“You're right,” she agreed. “I'm with him, until the end of the line.”

He couldn't help but smile slightly at that statement. “That's the same promise we made long ago. Looks like things haven't changed too much--”

He fell silent as he saw Tony, Sam, and Riley take a rather large step back from the operating table. Even before he reached the door to enter the operating room, the sign had turned from red to green, allowing him in. He was barely aware that Stevie had followed him in, and as soon as he approached, he saw that Bucky's good arm was twitching slightly, though his eyes were still closed.

Reaching his friend, he grasped his hand as Stevie stopped at the foot of the operating table. Slowly, he saw Bucky's eye lids begin to flutter as he came up and out of the anesthesia. That did not prepare him for the sudden blinding pain that shot up from his hand that grasped Bucky's, just as Bucky's eyes snapped open.

“It's me!” he immediately said, trying his damnest to keep the pain from coloring his tone. “It's Steve, Bucky! You're safe!” The wild look in Bucky's eyes immediately died as he saw him focus on him. “It's all right,” he said, in a gentler tone as the iron grip Bucky had on his hand started to loosen. “You're safe. I'm right here.”

Bucky's grip didn't suddenly slacken, but he did loosen it enough for Steve to slip his own out of his grasp. Steve didn't dare shake out his hand in an effort to alleviate the intense pain, nor did he move his hand back into Bucky's vision, knowing that it was most likely heavily bruised from the hairline fractures he felt within his bones. He did, however see slight confusion and grogginess overtake Bucky's eyes, as his friend blinked and whispered, “Wha...?”

“Good morning, Bucky,” Stevie spoke up from the foot of the bed, studiously avoiding the range of the prosthetic arm, which Bucky was curling and uncurling his prosthetic fingers.

“She's as chipper as you are in the goddamn morning, Steve...” he heard Bucky hoarsely whisper a moment later, raising his good hand to his face and rubbed his eyes in an effort to alleviate the after effects of the anesthesia.

He couldn't help but bark in laughter at the same time his counterpart did as well. It was enough for him to know that Bucky was not going to blindly attack any of them, nor was he lost in his memories. “We're leaving now,” he said, as Bucky continued to rub his eyes and shake his head slightly. “You going to be all right?”

“хитросплетения,” Bucky muttered, nodding once. “Water?”

“Need to check that everything is working and give it a few for the after effects to wear off first, Barnes,” Tony spoke up, as Steve glanced back to see him take a step forward.

“We'll be in contact, Tony,” he said, seeing that Bucky was going to be in good hands. He returned his attention to Bucky, saying, “See you in a few, Buck. Maybe you'll finally get that chance to show off your juggling skills with the new arm when we get back.”

“Morita was always better than me,” was Bucky's lethargic, almost grumpy answer.

Steve stepped away, murmuring his thanks to Tony and the others as he made his way to the operating room's exit. While his fight with Tony still haunted and stung him, he knew that he could not just put that aside in this alternate reality. There was a line he had crossed when he had chosen his side – to defend Bucky. This Tony was different, yet he was the same – at least there was some similarities that Steve could see. To reconcile with this Tony, to act as if their fight was one in a long line of snips at each other, was dangerous – especially since when he and Bucky returned to their reality, there would be no such forgiveness.

Yet this Tony, even if he was an AI, had done nothing except be immensely generous, and forgiving towards them. So Steve did what he could, thanked Tony whenever he could, but kept his distance as much as possible. Turning slightly back as he exited, he caught a surprising glimpse of Stevie hand-in-hand with Tony, squeezing Tony's hand for a brief moment before letting go. Exiting, he waited for her to exit as well – if what he saw was true, then that was definitely a distinction between his reality's Tony and this reality's Tony that he could cement.

“You need a wrap?” Stevie asked as they headed down to the tunnels that would take them to Grand Central Station.

Lifting up his hand, he saw that while it was mottled in color, the stabbing pain that was lessening with each passing minute. “No,” he answered, lowering it. “It should heal by the time we get there.”

The subways at this hour in the morning were more than a little crowded as commuters streamed in from all over the tri-state area. Whereas he and Bucky had entered New York through the clearly poorer and less well-off side of the subways, he and Stevie now entered the stations and the on the wealthier side. Most of those around them didn't pay them any heed, but then again, the black fatigues that his counterpart wore as her HYDRA uniform served to deter most of the attention.

Still, he couldn't help but openly frown as he saw the police harass and slowly process workers on the other side of the subway stations. It was only after a non-too-gentle elbow into his side that he glanced over towards Stevie, only to see her minutely shake her head in warning. He was not blending in, but yet it pained him to let the injustice of bullies in the form of cops slip by. “Digital code,” he barely heard her whisper above the sounds of the subway beginning to roll to its next destination.

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut as he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, to use what Natasha had taught him to blend in. Digital code or not, bullies were still bullies, even if artificial. However, he knew that he had to prioritize his survival over the needs of others – he had to because he had to protect Bucky. He couldn't do that if he was compromised, caught, or worse, turned into a HYDRA agent in this Framework.

It was only after they had arrived at Penn Station, boarded the Acela that would speedily take them to Washington DC, and seated in their own private cabin in the First-Class section that he slumped back slightly in his seat and let go of a ragged breath. “It took me a while to push that instinct down as well, Steve,” he heard his counterpart say after a few moments.

Opening his eyes, he sat up again, shaking his head slightly. It was only when he looked down to the table that he noticed something odd. There was also a small device on the center of the table that stood between their seats. It was projecting something, but Steve couldn't see anything around him, on the ceiling, or on the tabletop.

“It's a projective muffler,” she said, answering his unasked question. “It projects our images outwards, masking any non-compliant movements we make, such as me handing you a gun to clean. It also gives us an enclosed space to freely talk without anyone else overhearing us. First-Class cabins are always bugged, though not as many as the Coach-class. Tony and Agent Johnson designed and built the muffler.”

“Handy,” he commented, just as the train started to move. “So what's the plan?”

“You'll have to go through processing,” she said. “First part is usually interviews with a few of the high ranking people, maybe even enough to draw Madam Hydra out. You're going to have to convince them to look for the 0-8-4, as I will probably be going through my own separate interview to determine the truth of where I found you. Whatever you do, don't mention Bucky – yours or mine. You only know me, seen me, and that's it. The second part is where they'll take your blood to make sure that you're in the system, and that you're not Inhuman. There is a chance they'll do the interview and blood draw at the same time. It's what they do to subversives they capture.”

“Which is a problem,” he stated, lips curling slightly back in distaste. “I'm a terrible liar... and they're going to see that I have supposed 'Inhuman' blood.”

“Every lie has a grain of truth embedded within it, Steve,” she answered, her tone and expression booking no humor. “That's the only way you'll get through this.”

He inwardly sighed. “Will you at least practice possible questions with me?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding, though there was no softness in her eyes to blunt the inevitability. “As for the blood work issue, I'm hoping to use this opportunity to draw Agent Fitz out. As the Doctor, he rarely leaves his laboratory, and if he gets wind of your unusual blood work, it may just be enough to bring him out.”

“Baseline super-soldier that he needs for HYDRA's program?” he asked.

She nodded, but slipped her hand into one of her many pockets and withdrew a small box that was no bigger than the size of her palm. Setting it to one side of the small projector, she pushed it forward. He slid it closer to him and flipped it open. Inside was a ring, plain silver in color, but a little thick around the edges. “What's this?” he asked, looking back up, sensing that it was no ordinary ring.

“It's a ring with an injector. There's a specific type of algorithm that Tony developed over the weekend that if pricked into Agent Fitz, should hopefully begin to unravel what HYDRA and the Framework have done to him,” she explained as he picked the ring up and twisted it a little.

A tiny needle, almost level with the surface of the ring, popped out. If one shook hands with another while the needle was out, a small scratch on the skin could be easily brushed off. He had to admit to himself that Tony had outdone himself in terms of gadgetry – this was incredibly subtle. He was used to the pomp and circumstance that Tony gave to all the gadgets that he had supplied the Avengers with. This... this AI Tony within the Framework, was wholly different. Steve knew that he would be able to twist the ring as if he were slightly nervous without giving away that there was a needle within it.

Twisting the ring so that the needle slid back into its housing, he returned his attention to Stevie, saying, “I have to admit, I'm really impressed. But what if Agent Fitz doesn't want to shake my hand?”

“Find a way to,” she bluntly answered.

“Will this work on Bucky?” he asked after a moment, knowing that his question had been a rather unintelligent one.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. “If Tony makes too many changes within the Framework, then we all get caught. Small changes are the only way we can get past Madam Hydra's control, allowing her to chalk it up to the ever changing environment of the Framework.”

“How does it work?” he asked, placing the ring back into the box for the moment. “How does the Framework corrupt people, or rather, how does HYDRA use the Framework? Don't the people outside of it know?”

“It's very subtle, the way HYDRA runs the Framework,” she answered. “They market it as a social network, selling it as a virtual playground... as a place to develop new technology and experiment with possibilities that can't be replicated in the real-world yet. People love it, and they're willing to subject themselves to it, because what is a peaceful world worth in lieu of a chaotic one that SHIELD had created with their publicly botched missions to flush out HYDRA?”

Steve remained silent at that. It was clear that something had happened less recently than his reality exposure of HYDRA and the downfall of SHIELD, but was catastrophic enough that the people of Earth were willing to allow HYDRA to take control. He didn't dare press her for the answer, having an inkling as to just how painful some memories could be. The cancer that had been growing within SHIELD in his reality was still no less painful to excise, but it had to be done.

“How long does it take?”

“It can take days... weeks even, to ensure compliance,” she answered. “It's faster if you're a part of HYDRA within the Framework and unaware that you have been placed into the Framework. For you, me, and the others who are fully aware that we're in a simulation and of the situation, it doesn't work on us. Subversives and anyone who uses this as a virtual playground are only released after a thorough evaluation to ensure compliance.”

“So the fact that your Bucky is still within the Framework means that there is a chance that he hasn't been fully turned?” he asked, though he was hesitant about it.

“I don't know,” she admitted, looking worried as she bit the inside of her lower lip. “He's HYDRA's top operative within the Framework. He's been instructing their recruits, participating in raids, interrogating subversives... everything that HYDRA does in the real-world. He's too public of a figure within the Framework for me to just go up and knock him out. That and Black Widow is nearly constantly by his side.”

He was slightly startled at the venom in which she had spat out Natasha's call sign, but considering her demeanor and explanation about Natasha when they had been sitting in Sam's office, he had to guess that something terrible had happened. “Has... has she always been HYDRA? Nat—Black Widow?”

“Yes,” she answered, nodding, briefly looking towards the window. “She was considered a ghost in the Intelligence community until recently. When SHIELD fell and HYDRA took over, she was revealed. She was celebrated for bringing order to the chaos, raised a national hero, and became the number one cause of enlistment into HYDRA. She's also the one who assassinated Tony in the real-world.”

Stunned, he could only stare at her. There was no sorrow in her eyes, only a steely look that he found disconcerting. That disappeared after a few moments as she returned her attention onto him. “I'm... sorry, I shouldn't have asked.”

“You shouldn't have,” she agreed. “But I understand why. She must have been something special to you in your reality, didn't she?”

“Special?” he questioned, but realized what his counterpart meant by her words. “No,” he continued, shaking his head slightly. “Our relationship wasn't like that. She was a true friend when I had none. I had no one I could really relate to, due to circumstances. Everyone that I had known were either dead or so old that they had only a few years left to live. It was hard for me to make friends or relate to people who didn't have shared life experiences. She was the first one to help me cope with it.”

“Old or dead?” she asked, looking puzzled. “But Bucky--”

“I didn't know that he was the Winter Soldier until just before SHIELD fell,” he answered, folding his hands together. “He disappeared after SHIELD fell, and I only found him recently. We both were 'frozen in time', if you want to call it that. I...I was presumed killed-in-action before the war ended while trying to make sure that HYDRA's bomber didn't make it to the US. I ended up crashing it somewhere over Greenland. SHIELD found and thawed me out after a few decades had passed. Bucky... he was presumed killed-in-action during an operation in the war to capture Dr. Zola, but survived. He was found by the Soviets embedded in HYDRA... brainwashed... and...”

“What war?” she asked after a few moments.

“World War Two.”

The frown that appeared puzzled him, but that was clarified shortly with her saying, “It's 1986 at the moment. World War Two ended in 1955. What year is it for you?”

“2016,” he managed to say as he blinked in surprise. “World War Two ended in 1945.”

“I never thought the 0-8-4 that brought you guys here would transport and distort time,” she murmured. “Did Director Coulson find another one then?”

“So the 0-8-4 is not the 0-8-4 you think it is?” he asked, worried.

“I don't know,” she answered, looking unsure. “If this is a new 0-8-4, then HYDRA still has the other one and has the ability to transport other individuals through. I'm hoping that its the same 0-8-4 and that the Director has just discovered more of its capabilities.”

“Isn't that dangerous? You're playing with something that you do not fully understand,” he stated, a little angry at just how flippant this reality's Director of SHIELD was, with regards to advanced technology. It was enough that he had warned Fury about the Tesseract technology, even more so with the Insight Helicarriers. He thought it was downright negligent and irresponsible for this reality's SHIELD Director to bring people from another world with little regard, and have the gall to shove them into a simulation that could potentially kill them.

“I know,” Stevie answered, her eyes taking on a flinty look. “Look, I know, and I already told you that I'm not defending the Director's actions. I just think that he may have a good reason to do what he did. He's usually not this careless about tech, especially with a 0-8-4.”

The silence that stretched between them for the next few minutes was uncomfortable. Steve's anger did not diminish when his counterpart broke it by saying, “Let's practice your story.”

“Fine,” he said after a few moments, somewhat regretting that he had chosen this path.

“Rogers,” she said, holding his gaze with an unflinching look, “what you need to do right now is survive. I know you're angry at what the Director has done. Use that anger, but focus it. This is HYDRA we're talking about, and they won't hesitate in executing any subversive who doesn't show signs of complying. I've seen it done, and I wasn't able to stop it. Once we get out, you and Bucky are free to go – I'll make sure of it.”

As much as he wanted to admonish her for her lack of action, he held his tongue. This was not his reality, and even though these were people held the same face as people he knew, they were not the same. This was a nightmare scenario that could have easily happened in his reality, had HYDRA been successful in deploying the Helicarriers. The woman who sat in front of him was what he could have become – one who had given all, and continued to give even as the world took everything from her. As disconcerted as he was, he knew that he had to adapt, to do what she had initially stated – to survive. However, that did not mean that he would compromise what was left of his ideals, to just satisfy the masses – he needed to be smarter than that. “All right,” he said, unfolding his hands and spread them apart. “Where do we start with this story of mine?”

“Remember, use a grain of truth in your lies,” she answered. “It makes it easier to spin a story. Don't linger on the details, but if you do, keep it consistent.”

He blew out his breath as he nodded and a moment later, began to speak.

* * *

“This is Quake, go,” he heard the young agent state in a no-nonsense tone over the com piece she had hooked over her ear. He glanced over and saw her nod once before typing something into her laptop, saying, “Copy. Verified drop marker, proceed to the next one, Mockingbird. Contact at 0400 copy and concur. Good luck.”

He saw her withdraw the com piece from her ear and set it down on the table as she began to rapidly type. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough to return his attention to his journaling as she looked up and saw him staring at her. Grinning, she said, “Man, I'm surprised that you're up and about, so fast, sir. Hell, the last time I went under general anesthesia, I was getting my wisdom teeth extracted. The nuns had me in bed for three days straight and hopped up on strong painkillers.”

He shrugged, and even though he wanted to return to his writing, he was curious about the chatter that had happened. He knew that Agent Johnson was coding whatever algorithm was needed to create an exit from this damnable place, but the overall method seemed highly inefficient. He didn't think scouting out places, holding it via a marker – if he was correct in interpreting Johnson's words – and then building the exit, keeping it safe from detection, was smart or a good use of resources. It was better to just go to a location, build it right then and there, and get the hell out.

“Wouldn't it be more efficient to just have everyone in one spot and build the exit – say like in the middle of Grand Central?” he asked, pleased with himself that he had been able to form not only a coherent question, but maintained it completely in English.

The journaling of the stitched memory had certainly helped, and as he worked on another one that seemed to have coalesced together during his surgery, he felt relieved. Perhaps what Zemo had done to him was not permanent – perhaps he was able to mentally fight the hated program within him. If anyone in his and Steve's reality ever tried that again, he would use what memories he could stitch together to ground himself. He refused to slip back into the clutches of the monster that was the Winter Soldier.

“I considered that,” she answered. “But it takes a while to build an exit, and in that time, there is a very high chance that HYDRA would attack the location. The algorithm that Mr. Stark and I are building should build simultaneous exits in all the marked location that Mockingbird and Monty are scouting out. Hopefully, it will be enough to spread HYDRA thin enough that we'll be able to exit without having to engage in a heavy firefight.”

“What if it can't build them?”

“We go back to that one exit plan,” she answered. “Haven't been able to trace any unusual signatures yet that would indicate Madam Hydra using her own personal exit, though. If we do get a ping on that, we'll raid that instead.” She paused and chuckled before saying, “You sound just like my CO, sir. He's always asking about contingencies of the contingencies... making sure that we know all exits by heart should the mission go south.”

He didn't have anything to answer for that quip, and neither did the fragments provide any help. He was fairly certain, considering the non-fragmented Winter Soldier memories, that he had always planned exits that would not draw attention to himself or to the mission he had performed. This... this was potentially different and a lot riskier. Thus he asked, “Proficiency?”

“Huh?” she asked, but then realized what he was asking for. “Oh, well, I kind of got forcibly recruited into SHIELD when I hacked into their servers and Director Coulson traced me. Both you... erm, my CO and Mockingbird have been instructing me on hand-to-hand combat, and Monty's been teaching me how to shoot a number firearms. I'm nowhere near ready to handle a rifle though. Just give me a 9-mil and I should be fine, though in combat situations, I rely on more on my Inhuman abilities. Can't use them here, since HYDRA has all the crystals kept under lock and key.”

“Quake?” he guessed, using what he assumed was her call sign that she stated over the com.

“Yeah...” she answered. “Earthquakes. Can't use it too much without the specialized bracers that help regulate my powers to keep my bones from shattering.”

“Sounds painful,” he dryly answered.

That got a bark of laughter out of her, before she pointed at the two metal balls that he had been rotating back and forth in his newly installed prosthetic arm's hand. “You think you're ready to graduate to holding a glass?”

He glanced over at the current pair that he had in his metal hand. Beyond that was the remnants of five other pairs that he had worked through and crushed in the past few hours. There was also another pile of three more pairs of balls that were unopened and resting in their casing. This current pair had lasted for at least the past thirty minutes. He nodded slightly, and much to his chagrin, Johnson practically bounded out of her seat and went over to the bar on the other side of the room.

“God, I hate coding without a good stiff drink,” he heard her casually say out loud, as he saw her pull two glasses from a shelf and a bottle of whisky from the racks. Pouring a rather overly generous amount into each glass, she then carried them over, handing one to him. Accepting the glass, but being careful to handle it from the thick bottom, rather from the thin-walled sides, he saw her take a big gulp out of hers before returning to her seat.

He held his glass for a few moments, testing the haptic feedback that his arm was telling him, as he estimated the weight of the glass with the whisky within it. Unfortunately, as he brought the glass closer, the glass began to crack, spidering up from the base. He quickly set it down on the table, though the force of it caused more of it to crack, but not shatter. As annoyed as he was, he had at least a fragment to tell him that he had encountered such a setback before – when he had first gotten his silver arm and was 'calibrating' it.

“Awww,” he heard Johnson say, but her sympathetic noise was cut shot as a double beep issued from her laptop. He saw her frown as she typed a few things before tapping the com device in her ear, saying, “Tony, remember that channel that Sam had Cap and I look at?”

There was a pause as he assumed that Stark was answering her question, before she continued to say, “If this is what I think it is... I'm going to send you the file. You got a moment?”

There was another pause before she typed a few things, and then a moment later, a distorted, “What the hell?” blasted through Johnson's com device loud enough for even him to hear.

“Ow,” Johnson answered, rubbing her ear. “Sam can't spare people to go check it out, right? They're all needed for the relocation op in Maryland?”

There was some answer that he didn't pick up as he saw Johnson nod before glancing over at him, asking, “Hey, you know how to fly a quinjet, sir?” That was quickly followed up with her focusing back on the computer and stating in an annoyed tone, “Mr. Stark, we're just going to check the signal out. It'll be okay, a test run of the new arm and all that. We're not going to draw any attention, sheesh. You're not my CO, Stark.”

There was another few moments of pausing before he saw her shake her head, yank out the com and extend it over to him. Picking it up with his good hand, he placed the device in his ear and heard Stark say, “You really shouldn't be up and about, even this soon after surgery, Barnes.” Just as he was about to answer with something decidedly not polite about the way that Stark was behaving, Stark continued, saying, “but Agent Johnson is right. We can't spare anyone to check out the signal. Get in, have a look around, get out, and I won't have to tell either Stevie or Steve that I let you off the reservation.”

“You'll tell them anyways, Stark,” he answered, and removed the com device, handing it back to Johnson. He closed his notebook, placed the pen on top of it and stood up, just as Johnson shut her laptop. “Where's the armory?”

“This way,” she answered, smirking. “Quinjet is on the rooftop hanger. It has stealth mode so we'll be undetected from HYDRA.”

“хорошо.”

* * *

It was only when the Acela began to pull out of the BWI train station that Steve's anger cooled enough for him to ask, “I couldn't help but notice... you and Tony?”

“Feel a little uncomfortable that I'm in a relationship with an AI?” she asked, leaning back, with a smirk on her lips.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, a ghost of a smile quirking up the edges of his lips. “I know someone who is in a similar relationship. At least I hope they might still be.” While it was not entirely true, he wasn't oblivious to the looks that Wanda and Vision shared whenever the two thought that no one was looking. Tony imposing a 'house arrest' on Wanda certainly did not help the situation, thus he had made sure she was rescued, hoping that Vision would see folly in the signing of the Accords. Still, he had not expected for Vision to take Tony's side, though in hindsight, Vision was in a twisted sense, Tony's artificially created son of sorts.

“The real Tony,” she said after a few moments, her tone wistful with a hint of sorrow in it, “was my husband. We were married for only two weeks before he was assassinated.”

“Married?” he said, surprised before his better judgment kicked in as he realized why she hated Black Widow. It also dawned on him why Tony's words about bringing down the organization behind the creation of weapons was seemingly addressed at her. “I'm... sorry,” he said, pushing aside his own well of sorrow with Peggy's death that he had managed to temporarily dam up in the wake of Bucky and the whole mess with Zemo. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she quietly said. “And I'm sorry for your loss as well.”

“How...?” he questioned, slightly puzzled at her words.

“Intelligence agent,” she answered, glancing up at him for a moment. “I was trained to read people in my reality. You... you were a straight up soldier in your reality. I saw something else weigh upon your shoulders. I didn't know what it was until now.”

“Yeah... but I'm glad that I had one last chance to talk to her,” he finally admitted, feeling that oppressive well start to slowly recede with his admission. “By chance, did you have a Peggy Carter in this reality?”

“Oh,” she said, instead of answering his question, sounding genuinely puzzled for a moment. “I thought it had to do something with your reality's Tony and the fight that Bucky said that you got involved in.”

Steve drew in a long breath before audibly sighing, “Yeah... that as well.” He looked up from staring at the dash to see her giving him an indecipherable look before realizing that she thought that Tony was dead in his reality as well. “Tony's not dead in my world,” he said. “We... just had a... a difference of opinion on the Superhero Registration Act... That led into one thing and another...”

_He's my friend..._

_So was I..._

“Did your HYDRA or SHIELD introduce the Superhero Registration Act?” he asked after a few moments.

“We did,” she answered, nodding slightly. “It was introduced shortly after Inhumans started to make themselves known to the world. HYDRA introduced it in an effort to curb and regulate them, and other powered individuals – natural and unnatural. Tony was vehemently against it, and managed to rally a lot of support to try to stop it from passing. Shortly before it was going to go to Congress for review, he was assassinated. I tried to keep the support going, but it was... difficult. All of the support against the Act fell within a matter of days.”

“Tony was for the Act, I was against it,” he finally stated, breaking the silence that followed her explanation. “The team that we had put together, the Avengers, dissolved because of it.”

“It sounds like a complicated mess,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “If it will help, I'll try to get Tony to keep his distance. He's always wanting to help make things better, improve peoples' lives, even in AI form.”

“Thanks, but its okay,” he answered.

As he felt the train start to slow down, along with the conductor announcing the next stop, he saw her take the projector-muffler and stow it away. Breathing deeply and squaring his shoulders, he closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. Slipping the needle-embedded ring onto a finger, he looked over towards his counterpart and nodded. He was as ready as he could be, to infiltrate HYDRA.

* * *

“You know, I don't know whether or not you're just trolling me, or you find it funny, or maybe you're just plain insane, sir. But I get it, and I have to say... that get up and that sexy-looking arm...it suits you.”

He glanced back at her with an incredulous look. “You always this flirty with your CO, Johnson?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “It's usually the other way around. It's harmless between us, and its a good disguise for either of us to use whenever we're undercover. He knows that I have a boyfriend, and he knows better than to cross him.”

He shook his head and returned his attention back to their surroundings. While it was clear that she was able to differentiate between him and the other James Barnes, it was also clear to him that she had a strangely immense amount of respect for her CO – and that she was still trying to cope with the fact that this reality's James Buchanan Barnes was a fully turned HYDRA agent. Fortunately, she refocused herself back on the mission as she pulled out a small tablet and began to pan it around.

They had landed in a disused industrial wasteland of what used to be Camp Lehigh. He had not seen any cameras of the sort, nor had Johnson's tablet picked up any EM emissions or radio waves. All it had detected was the faint trace of the signal that SHIELD had directed Rogers' counterpart to investigate. Still, he proceeded into the area with caution, though he had a semi light grip on the rifle he was holding, due to him still calibrating the arm. He was able to fight and manipulate objects with it, but he knew that he still did not have enough control over the strength he was applying to it.

“This way,” Johnson absently said, as she occasionally looked up from the tablet to make sure that she wasn't walking into a brick wall of a building or into a wire fence. Not that he was going to let her, but he was more concerned about making sure that they were not being followed, or that anyone was going to ambush them. All he heard were the occasional chirping of birds, but there was nothing else except for the sounds of their booted feet crunching on gravel.

Soon they made their way towards a missile bunker, and she stopped in front of it, saying, “Well... its telling me that the signal is coming from there.”

He reached out with his augmented arm and grasp the lock that was attached to the door and pulled. Unfortunately, he had applied a little too much force and ended up ripping the metal door from its hinges. “Oops,” he heard Johnson quip, but ignored it as he tossed the door away.

Entering first, he swept his rifle around and listened for any sounds of movement other than his or Johnson's own before walking in a little further. Johnson followed him, though her eyes were now glued to the tablet. There was absolutely nothing in this bunker – only dust and cobwebs, and he didn't see anything that would indicate a hidden door, wall, or switch that would lead them elsewhere.

“It says its here,” Johnson stated as she stopped in the middle of the bunker, gesturing to the ground. “Like about 100 feet below us. Topo scans don't show any sort of elevator... unless...”

Her eyes snapped up to met his as she looked back down at her tablet, typing in a few things furiously with one hand. “AIDA must be building something here in the real-world, if that's the signal leaking into the Framework. But what--”

“Quake, Nomad, come in,” Stark's voice crackled over their earpieces.

He blinked slightly in confusion for a moment, as did Johnson before realizing that Stark was referring to him. “Nomad here,” he answered. “Go.”

“We got a situation brewing at that enclave.”

He looked over towards Johnson who shook her head, indicating that they couldn't do anything else with the signal. “Send coords, Quake and I are on it. Backup?”

“Scrambling. Two hours max. Over and out,” Stark stated before disconnecting the line.

“Guess the shakedown is over,” he murmured to himself, flexing his metal arm before windmilling it once to get the last of the haptic feedback sensors calibrated as best as he could.

* * *

It was unusual and downright odd enough to not be treated as as one might treat a threat, that Steve couldn't help but look around for a third time. The room that he and his counterpart had been led into was windowless, but it looked almost akin to a wartime enlistment waiting room – except that there were far fewer people. It was only him, Stevie, and one armed but relaxed looking guard standing at the door. There were a few chairs, and even a few tables full of paraphernalia that looked like typical magazines or newspapers scattered over the tables or chairs. If one didn't pay attention to the headlines that were plastered on the front, then Steve could have sworn that he was in a SHIELD VIP visitor's reception area rather than a HYDRA one.

He remembered his first day joining SHIELD, walking into the enormous atrium that held the statue of the eagle with folded wings. Escalators that led to the second level and to the elevators were at the far end, and it was only the guard who had walked with him from the entrance to here, who had nudged him in the right direction to go through processing. Everyone who had been in that atrium had stopped whatever they had been doing and stared at him. He had been incredibly self-conscious about the stares that he had received whenever out and among the soldiers within base camp or in the underground bunker of the SSR, but eventually learned how to ignore the stares.

It had been the same when he entered SHIELD, and it had been the same now when he had entered HYDRA headquarters at the Triskelion. Even though he was surrounded by HYDRA agents when he had entered the building, his 'sixth sense' as Sam had called it whenever he had hunches about situations, had not picked up any ill intent being directed at him or at his counterpart. All he had openly read was shock and surprise from the HYDRA agents – they seemed just as normal as SHIELD agents.

It had unnerved him, as he had expected to be attacked as soon as he had set foot within the building, and it still did now, as he and his counterpart waited for whoever was going to 'interview' him. He couldn't just put aside years of instinct from fighting HYDRA, but he tried to exert as much control as he could over those instincts. He was glad though, that his counterpart's calm, seemingly unflappable presence next to him was deterring him from lashing out rashly. However, he was also well aware of just how insidious such a calm, peaceful demeanor that HYDRA presented was. He was beginning to see how HYDRA was able to successfully denounce SHIELD in this reality's real-world.

Stevie had picked up one of the newspapers as soon as they had entered and told to wait here, and was quietly reading whatever was on page five of the paper. Steve himself had not picked anything up and instead, had chosen to observe the room, study the guard, and pick out all of the visible cameras that he could see. One was hidden in the potted plant in the furthermost corner of the room, two were openly hung in the opposite corners, and he was quite certain that the guard had a body camera on him. Whether they were evaluating his and his counterpart's behavior or demeanor, he didn't know, but it was as Stevie had said – he needed to play his part in order to survive.

To him, even though he had formulated his story as best as he could and memorized it during the train ride, he was not determined to compromise what was left of the ideals he held. HYDRA was the enemy, and was a bully, even if the rosy, protectionist world they showed to the public in the Triskelion told otherwise. They were not the order sown from the chaos – they were the chaos masked as the savior that the people of Earth were forced to swallow.

The door suddenly opened and the guard standing next to it snapped to, as another familiar face entered. “Agent Sitwell,” Stevie greeted as she snapped the newspaper shut and stood up.

Steve also stood, but he managed to refrain from saying anything related to his knowing Sitwell from his reality. Oddly enough though, Sitwell's presence served to cement the fact that he was not in SHIELD but within HYDRA. Though his counterpart had stated that compliance to HYDRA could not be done to those who knew that they were in a simulation and were resisting HYDRA, he found it difficult to push away the fact that thus far, it looked and felt like SHIELD. It was too easy to fall back into old habits.

“If you would follow me, Agent Rogers and Rogers' supposed counterpart, Madam Hydra herself would like to personally interview him.” Sitwell stated and turned without waiting for an acknowledgment.

Stevie didn't even deign to give one anyways as she merely stood up and followed Sitwell out. Steve followed her, and the guard took up the rear. Though he felt naked in civilian clothing, both he and Stevie had agreed that it was better that he not walk into HYDRA in his uniform. That had been left at Stark Tower, and though there was no way out of this place yet, he considered permanently leaving it somewhere in this reality. He was no longer Captain America, no longer felt that he had the right to wear the stars and stripes, much less wield the shield that Howard had built. He was just a fugitive from the law.

The walk was not long and when they entered through two swinging double doors and into a lab that looked as if its occupants had been told to clear out in a hasty manner, there was a woman with dark hair that was tipped in green, dressed in a dark green dress suit, sitting in a chair before an empty chair. She was quite striking in looks, and though her eyes seemed incredibly expressive, he saw nothing but a blank slate in those eyes. She rose and met them halfway across the room, extending a hand out towards him as both Sitwell and Stevie stepped to the side. Returning the gesture, Steve stopped before her and shook her hand, surprised at just how firm and strong of a grip she had.

“Welcome. May I be the first to apologize for keeping you waiting. It's not everyday that we get visitors that look like one of our agents. I am Ophelia Hydra, Director of SHIELD.”

“Steve Rogers,” he managed to say, surprise flooding him at the organizational name she had introduced with.

Letting go she stepped back and gestured to the two chairs set up. Taking a seat across from her, Steve did not miss the piercing, uncomfortable up-down look she had raked over him, before she put on a pleasant smile. “You looked surprise when I mentioned SHIELD, Mr. Rogers. Do you not have SHIELD in your world?”

“No,” he answered, “SHIELD fell in my reality.” He paused, but there was nothing on Madam Hydra's face that gave away anything that would indicate her thoughts. “So you believe that I am from another reality? Another world?” He glanced over to the side and jerked with a thumb towards Sitwell, saying, “Agent Sitwell seemed to imply that Agent Rogers was not to be believed.”

“Agent Sitwell is a brilliant agent who has only the best interests of SHIELD at heart,” Madam Hydra answered, smiling, though that smile did not reach her eyes. “I expect him to question everything until their veracity can be proven.”

“Ma'am,” Sitwell answered, nodding slightly.

“All right,” he answered, folding his hands together and twisted his ring slightly to make it look as if he were slightly anxious. Conversationally, he said, “So can you get me back to my world? Because as much as it heartens me to see SHIELD still standing here, I have my own world to defend from threats.”

“Perhaps,” Madam Hydra answered after a moment. “Though I can see that your words aren't entirely the truth, at least your 'relief' for SHIELD still standing in this reality.”

He gave her a thin smile before bitterly saying, “No, you're correct on that part. SHIELD on my world was corrupt. To excise the cancer within required it to be destroyed.”

“I take it from your words that you had a hand in the collapse of SHIELD, Mr. Rogers?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, meeting her gaze with an unflinching look. It was all true, from a certain point of view, and with several crucial details left out.

“So you're a former SHIELD agent then, Mr. Rogers?”

“I was, though I retained my rank from the military when I entered SHIELD's service a few years ago. Captain, US Army infantry, 107th commandos. It seems that there is a difference of ranks and background between me and my counterpart, or at least what Agent Rogers here has told me of this world.”

“Which brings me to the question on how and where exactly you ended up here, Captain Rogers,” Madam Hydra asked, crossing her legs and draped her clasped hands over her knees, looking incredibly relaxed.

“I don't know how I got here, if that's what you're asking, ma'am,” he answered. “I was severely injured after a fight. I passed out, and next thing I know, Agent Rogers here found me.”

The Director of HYDRA looked over towards Stevie, as Steve heard her ask, “Why did you not report this earlier, Agent Rogers?”

“Ma'am,” his counterpart answered in a crisp tone, “it was touch and go for Captain Rogers here over the weekend. I was not sure what brought him here either, but I decided that it was better to present him at headquarters, rather than cause a commotion in New York City and give the Resistance something to fight back with.”

The expression on the woman's face was indiscernible, but she returned her attention onto Steve, asking, “Well, I do hope that you will not judge a book by its cover, Captain. SHIELD in this world is always ready to help, assist, and ensure the safety of Earth and its people. We have always ensured vigilance against corruption from within and outside influences. Your arrival here has turned heads, there is no doubt of it, but we have had some experience with wayward travelers from other realities. However, I do believe that you are the first traveler who is a direct counterpart to one of our agents.”

“So you'll help me get back?” he asked again, making sure to twist the ring on his finger yet again.

“We will,” she answered nodding, “but first, there are a few things that we need to do to ensure that you are not a threat to us, and that you are telling the truth.”

This time, Steve could not wholly keep the alarm out of his expression, even though Stevie had warned him about it. His attention was further diverted when the double doors that he had entered through opened. Turning slightly, he got up from his seat, just as Madam Hydra did as well, as she introduced the young man dressed in a smart, sharp, respectable three-piece suit, complete with a pocket watch.

“May I introduce my second-in-command, Dr. Leopold Fitz, head of Research and Development for SHIELD. I've personally asked him to take a look at this issue,” Madam Hydra said, opening her arms slightly in welcome as Steve saw the young man approach with an attitude that almost belied the fact that he did not want to be present and was only tolerating the summon because of Madam Hydra, about him. Steve was amazed that someone so young was tasked with head of the entire division for research and development, mentally estimating Dr. Fitz at a much younger age than Howard during the war. He knew SHIELD recruited the best and the brightest, but he usually did not meet or see those who worked in R&D. This young man must have been an exceptional candidate to become both a field agent for SHIELD and for HYDRA to allow him to become their head of R&D, even in a virtual world.

Giving his ring one last twist to extend the tiny needle out, he too approached and extended a hand out to the young scientist-engineer. To his relief, it seemed that despite the air of disdain that Dr. Fitz held, at least the young man was not remiss on manners. Clasping the young man's hand, he firmly shook and did not see anything amiss within Dr. Fitz's eyes that gave any indication that he had felt the sharp edge of the needle scrape across his fingers.

Letting go, Steve then asked, “So what is it you need? How can I prove that I am who I am and not a threat?”

“I understand your nervousness, Mr. Rogers,” Madam Hydra said, as Dr. Fitz gave him a plain look, seemingly unimpressed by the fact that he was not of this reality. “But all we need is a blood sample for now. I'd think that if SHIELD were still standing in your reality, your Director would do the same to visitors as well. If you don't mind, you will also be under supervision for a few days.”

It wasn't difficult to feign worry as Steve glanced over towards Stevie who was watching the entire exchange with an incredibly neutral look, as if nothing about this was affecting her. “What about Agent Rogers?” he asked, returning his attention to Madam Hydra as Dr. Fitz stepped away and over to an abandoned lab table to pick up a clean, sterile needle and syringe, along with a rubber tie and alcohol swabs. Steve had also taken the momentary visual distraction to quickly twist his ring back to the closed state, lest he accidentally prick himself or other people with it.

“Agent Rogers will return to her duty, but don't worry, you will be able to see her from time to time,” Madam Hydra said in a reassuring tone, smiling slightly as she gestured for him to go to where Dr. Fitz was setting up his materials for the blood draw.

“So you're saying it will take time to look for whatever brought me here?” he asked, as he rolled up his right sleeve past his elbow, taking a seat on the stool next to the doctor.

“Yes,” she answered, taking a seat opposite, playing the ever gracious host. As Dr. Fitz bound the rubber tie around the upper part of his arms and searched for an appropriate vein to draw blood, she asked, “Are you married? Someone waiting for you at home?”

“Huh?” he started, blinking at her in surprise before she gestured to the ring on his hand, just as the young doctor inserted the needle and began to draw his blood into several tiny vials. “Oh,” he answered a moment later, nodding, this time absently twisting the ring without unlocking the needle mechanism. “I was engaged.”

While it wasn't entirely true, he had contemplated asking Peggy to marry him after the war, but circumstances had prevented that. Even after visiting her several times a week while she was in hospice, he had considered proposing, but ultimately decided not to. He couldn't do that to her, to continue to break her heart whenever she forgot that she was in the present, and thought that he was still dead.

“...died a few days ago,” he managed to whisper, his eyes cast down. It was not easy to hold back the genuine tide of grief, but remembering that he was in a HYDRA facility, nearly surrounded by agents of HYDRA helped. Peggy had dedicated her life to fighting HYDRA and many other injustices of the world, defending it when he could not, and he drew on that strength she had given him. “Natural causes, the coroner said.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Rogers,” Madam Hydra softly said, as Steve felt her lay a hand on top of his own. He looked up to see that far be it that her eyes held a calculating look, there was a surprisingly genuine sympathetic look instead. She removed her hand and sat back a moment later, saying, “Grief takes many forms, and forgive my presumption, but you've thrown yourself into whatever defender duties you have to your reality, am I correct? I understand that you want to return to your reality as fast as possible, but it will take time. Please consider yourself a guest here, and avail yourself to our counselors if you are in need of them.”

“A guest with an escort?” he asked, frowning slightly as he saw Dr. Fitz hand him a cotton ball to press against the vein in which his blood had been drawn from. Though he knew that such pressure need not be applied, since his healing abilities would have already begun to seal as soon as the needle was taken out, he did so.

“It is only a precaution,” she answered, standing up and gesturing for them to return to their previous seats, which were far more comfortable than the stools.

He complied, holding the cotton ball against the crook of his elbow but couldn't help but glance back to see Dr. Fitz already at work with the blood samples that had been taken. Hard light projections sprang up around the young man, with data already scrolling by several of them. It was now only a matter of time before the young man would discover his unique blood work – it was now time to move onto Phase 2 of the infiltration plan.

~~~

Quiet, foggy, and with only a few chirping birds and insects, the enclave that house several Inhumans looked more like a picturesque residential neighborhood than what the word 'enclave' brought up in his fragmented memories. From the Winter Soldier fragments, he remembered sneaking into an off-the-grid community that lived off the land with no electricity. It had been a snatch-and-grab mission of sorts, but he didn't remember who exactly it was about, other than his handlers telling him about the definition of 'enclave'.

This neighborhood had enormous houses. Some had walled fences higher than seven feet circling the backyards, and stylish, low brick or stone walls that circled the front. The houses themselves were sitting on neatly manicured lawns, some with interestingly strange topiares dotting the perimeters or front. More than a few had gated entrances to the driveways and garages, and a few expensive cars were left out of their garages. The entire area screamed wealth, and he couldn't help but wonder how exactly SHIELD or the Resistance managed to hide several Inhumans within this place without making them look conspicuous. He didn't think such an underground organization decimated by HYDRA, even in the virtual world, had the necessary funds to have people living in such a wealthy neighborhood.

The quinjet was a few miles away, nestled in a tight clearing of a forest, as was Agent Johnson, who was running control from the it. Were it not for the fact that Johnson had stated she detected heat signatures of heavily armed operatives near where they had silently landed, as if searching for something, he would have thought that the coordinates Stark had sent them were wrong. Gripping his rifle tighter, he flicked the knob on the side to single and made his way towards the first house on his path.

He was quite glad for the upgrade in the night vision device that was overlaid with his helmet's blended googles. It was a most definitely welcomed piece in his arsenal, surpassing what he remembered of the M2 scope piece he had equipped to his sniper rifle during the war. Not only was he able to clearly see what was in front of him through the thick, murky fog, he had finally found the first wandering armed person sniffing about.

Pressing himself against the house, he peeked out and looked around – there was no one else close, and the armed person looked as if he was currently relieving himself, facing away from him. Carefully swinging his rifle to his back, he stilled himself for a moment before dashing out. Sprinting up, he immediately grabbed the soldier, wrapping his good arm around the soldier's face, wrenching his neck to the side with a 'pop'. At the same time, his augmented hand had closed around the muzzle of the rifle the soldier had been holding, and crushed the barrel.

The soldier dropped like a sack of grain, but he had already adjusted his grip on the man, quickly dragging him away from the house and into a small cluster of bushes. Folding the man up, he shoved the body into the bushes and glanced around. Still no bogeys and still nothing from Johnson indicating that he had been detected. Tapping the earpiece, he whispered, “One down, how many more?”

“Twenty-four,” she stated. “Next customer is a hundred meters from your position. I think he or she is trying to see into the empty house. There's a cluster of three fifty meters from that customer's position, so--”

“Don't set off the alarms then,” he finished up, drawing his rifle forward again.

“Got it in one, sir.”

“Any other com chatter?” he asked, as he silently made his way across a neatly manicured lawn, careful not to disturb the toys that had been left out.

“None so far. If the ETA is correct, we should have backup arriving in about an hour.”

“All right, where are the Inhumans living?”

“Two houses down from the cluster of three and one that I'm pointing you towards,” she answered.

“Give me the layout of the neighborhood, Quake. As soon as I clear that area out, I want you to go and эвакуир--” he mentally corrected himself, “--get them out of there. We can't wait for backup to arrive.”

“Got a hunch, sir?” she asked, thankfully not questioning his order that he had nearly given in Russian.

“HYDRA is usually not quiet after their first search and destroy operative goes down,” he stated, as he slipped behind a tree, just as he saw the operative near the house. Beyond there, in the open were three more operatives, clustered together, as if they were comparing notes or something else.

As Johnson rattled off the locations and numbers relative to his current position, he withdrew three knives that had been sheathed into the areas on the uniform he wore. At this distance, he knew that his aim was not going to be perfect, but it was good enough that there would hopefully be as little noise as possible. Flicking the knives straight at the cluster of three, he didn't wait to see the bodies fall as he sprinted straight towards the house-watcher. The operative only had one moment to widen her eyes in surprise before he shoved his rifle's muzzle between where her kevlar armor plates did not meet and pulled the trigger.

The shot was muffled, but he was already pulling away, leaving her body to fall to the ground. Considering how spread out the search and destroy team of twenty-five, now only twenty, was in this neighborhood, he needed to move fast. He needed to give Johnson enough time to evacuate the Inhumans out of here.

~~~

“Ma'am.”

Sitwell's interruption was a godsend in Steve's opinion, as he felt as if he was running ragged with the half-truths he had been spinning about his reality, and learning about this one from the viewpoint of HYDRA. While the conversation had been pleasant, the underlying tone and intent that Steve sensed from it was anything but. Dr. Fitz was still in the room running the tests, and still had not found anything thus far, which had started to worry him. From what it sounded like in terms of discovering who was Inhuman or not, he had thought that it would have been detected easily and quite fast that his blood was not normal.

“Yes?” she questioned, tone sharp and unlike the seemingly friendly one she had been speaking with a moment ago.

“A situation is brewing near Harpers Ferry, where you asked Agent Barnes to monitor from control, ma'am,” Sitwell stated, his voice betraying no sign of nervousness. “He just reported that we lost contact with sixteen of the twenty-five operatives we've sent to there.”

“What?”

The force of Madam Hydra's exclamation, coupled with her suddenly standing up, startled Steve for a moment, but he too stood, as the woman suddenly left without another word. Confused, he looked over towards his counterpart, only to find her frowning slightly as Sitwell wordlessly gestured for her to proceed out of the room, before gesturing for him to follow as well. Taking one last look at Dr. Fitz who was still going over the data being projected, he reluctantly followed his counterpart out.

“What's going on, Agent Sitwell?” he heard Stevie ask as they followed the agent down the hall.

“It's what I stated to Madam Hydra, Agent Rogers,” the man answered.

“What was the operation?” he asked, sensing that there was something of a bad blood or rivalry between his counterpart and Sitwell with regards to something or another. He hoped that his question would be received better than his counterpart's question and not ignored or belittled.

“Find and detain Inhumans before they become a threat to the general populace,” Sitwell stated in a more amenable, but still disdainful tone. “You didn't have Inhumans in your reality?”

“Threats upon the Earth were more... extra terrestrial,” he said, hoping that his simple explanation was adequate enough to seem ignorant about the topic of Inhumans. “Are Inhumans an extra terrestrial threat that I may need to warn people about?” he asked.

At that, he heard Sitwell snort, though it was not the joking kind, and more scoffing than anything else as the man stated, “No. They're a homegrown threat. They use alien crystals called Terragen. Terragen transforms them into monsters, and they've tried to disrupt the very democracy and peace of our society, trying to force us under their rule. They think they're better than human kind, that they are 'the next evolution' of mankind and those who don't have their so-called 'blood' are to be hunted like dogs.”

He frowned, but didn't say anything in response to Sitwell's explanation. There had been an underlying amount of anger, almost subtle enough over the haughtiness of his explanation that told Steve that perhaps Sitwell had been involved in a situation gone south with Inhumans. He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the agent, even if his reputation had been colored by his actions in the other reality. Other than Agent Johnson, he did not know anyone else who was an Inhuman in this world. He knew that his perception was colored towards positive and a group of people whom needed help from persecution.

A few paces ahead of them was Madam Hydra, head bent down slightly as she spoke into a com line to someone else. She badged her way through a set of steel double doors, but Sitwell did not follow her. Instead, he badged into an adjacent door that was near the steel doors, and stepped in. As soon as both he and Stevie entered, an electronic voice pipped up, saying, “Unauthorized access, Agent Stephanie Rogers, Level 7, and unknown person--”

“Override on my, Special Agent Sitwell, authorization,” Sitwell interrupted.

“Acknowledged.”

The room they had entered was an observation room of sorts, complete with three rows of seats that probably would have held VIPs. The enormous window on Steve's right looked into the control center, where there were many agents wearing the same uniforms as SHIELD personnel. All were sitting at their consoles, monitoring various feeds and the like. Some of those feeds were holographically displayed on the enormous screen at the front of the room. The most prominent two were a chart of several numbered operatives colored in either red or green, and the other being a map of what looked like a suburban neighborhood that looked static with twenty-five 'x' marks on it.

Heads in the control room looked up, some startled, some in fright as Steve watched Madam Hydra march down the center aisle of the room, eyes looking whichever way until she spotted the person she had been hunting for. Said person had been leaning away from the observation window, talking to one of the controllers in the room about something that Steve had initially ignored him. Now, as the man sensed Madam Hydra's approach, Steve saw him stand up to his full height and turn to face the Director of HYDRA.

He felt his breath hitch for a moment as even in profile, the shape of the man's forehead, nose, jaw, even his hair cut short as he remembered as if it were a distant dream, came back to haunt him. There was no mistaking it; it was as if he were looking at the exact twin of one Bucky Barnes, except that instead of the haunted look and longer hair, this Bucky standing in the control center looked exactly like Bucky had in World War Two – complete with the uniform as well.

“You know Agent Barnes, Mr. Rogers?”

“Uh,” he began, glancing over to Sitwell as he saw Stevie, standing to the other side of Sitwell, silently and minutely shake her head in disapproval in response to his slip. This time, his twisting of the ring on his finger was not faked. He needed to think of something quick, and he knew that any lie that he spoke about not knowing Bucky would not pass muster – not with Sitwell observing him as if he were under a microscope. “He... looks like someone I lost. I don't know your Agent Barnes, but the man I knew and lost was James Buchanan Barnes. He looked exactly like...him...”

He turned his head away from the observation window, unable to keep looking at a face so familiar yet so foreign, when he _knew_ that Bucky was alive, was safe in Stark Tower, and was waiting for him to complete this mission so they could get back to their reality. It was only Stevie's “Dr. Fitz found something?” that snapped his head back up, only for him to see the young doctor enter the control room, headed towards where Madam Hydra and this reality's Bucky were.

Steve noticed out of the corner of his eyes that Sitwell was slowly moving his right hand towards the 9 mil holstered to his side. That movement was aborted not a moment later, just before Steve could take action to potentially defend himself as Sitwell immediately raised his other hand towards his embedded com ear piece, saying, “What? Ma'am, I have to protest--”

Whatever Madam Hydra – Steve had to assume with reasonable suspicion – said to Sitwell stopped the agent's protest. However, it did not stop the shrewd, almost purely hostile look that he received from the agent. He didn't recoil from the look and merely settled for leveling a glare at the agent, wondering if Dr. Fitz's interruption was about his unusual blood work that had finally made itself known. The agent looked away, tilting his head slightly as he listened to whatever else the head of HYDRA was stating before saying, “As you wish, ma'am.”

“Agent Sitwell?” Stevie asked as soon as Sitwell dropped his hand from the earpiece.

“Suit up, Agent Rogers – both of you,” Sitwell stated, his tone completely professional that did not belay any sort of anger or hostility that Steve had seen in his eyes a few minutes ago. Sitwell turned slightly to face him, saying, “You want our help in getting you back to your world? You're going to have to play ball with us.”

“Sit rep?” he asked, as Sitwell exited the observation room followed by both him and Stevie, just as the metal double doors swung open as well. “And its Captain Rogers, Agent Sitwell,” he continued, studiously ignoring the fact that this reality's Bucky had emerged from the control room, followed by Dr. Fitz. “SHIELD allowed me to keep my rank from my military days.”

“Better for com differentiation then,” he heard Bucky quip and nearly flinched from just how casual, how _normal_ he sounded. It was as if this Bucky had not gone through the war, nor had become the Winter Soldier. However, he had to remind himself that this Bucky, in this virtual world of HYDRA, was an operative – one of the two best they had, and was under HYDRA's control.

“Twenty of the twenty-five operatives that were sent out into the field at a suspected Inhuman enclave have been lost as of two minutes ago,” Bucky continued, taking over the briefing as Steve saw Sitwell peel off to go somewhere else. It was only a light tap on his elbow from his counterpart that indicated where they should go as she picked up her pace and led the way down some other halls. “There is most likely an Inhuman who has somehow self activated and if not contained, will destroy the area.”

Steve couldn't help but glance back, hearing the worry that sounded almost genuine from this reality's Bucky's tone. As much as he wanted to stop right there and shake this Bucky out of whatever HYDRA had done to him, he dared not. He instead, focused on the fact that Dr. Fitz was walking with them, and had not gone off in another direction. “Doctor? I would have thought that research and development people such as you would not be participating in an op such as this.”

“You're not human, Captain Rogers,” the young man stated, with an unkind smile. “Yet you're not Inhuman either.”

If it weren't for the fact that Steve knew that it was only because of HYDRA and their control over the young man's actions that Steve held back what he really wanted to say – to lash out at the implications and injustice of judging people by their blood, not by their merits or otherwise proof. “No, I'm not,” he answered, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible. “I'm an experiment, created because they were desperate for something to counter the enemy's overwhelming forces and power. I was supposed to be the first of many super-soldiers.”

“And you may yet help save this world, Captain,” the young man answered. Even though the tone and cadence didn't match that of Dr. Zola, the words were enough to send chills down Steve's spine. “We are in need of a way to combat these Inhumans, much like whatever enemy your reality created your for. I'm merely observing your skills in combat, to see if whatever made you is viable, and comparing it to--”

Imprisoned SHIELD member or not, Steve felt his calm snap as he completely rounded on the young man and grabbed him by the front of his lab coat, lifting him up a few inches off the ground. The words, the tone, the insinuation was too much for him to tolerate – too much like Zola and Zemo's taunts--

“Hey!” Stevie's forceful exclamation, and the fact that she had merely applied the blade of her hand on his wrist in the spot where it caused the most pain, caused him to drop the doctor. “Op first, Rogers. There are _people_ that need our help. We can sort this shit out later.”

Disgusted, not only at himself for losing control so easily, but also for what HYDRA had done to the young man, he turned away and resumed following Stevie. He was not going to apologize for his actions – he did not want to be subjected to experimentation by HYDRA of all organizations. It was already enough that what Bucky had implied happened to the formula that Howard had recreated and was stolen on December 16th, 1991, was bad. HYDRA in this virtual world already had his blood sample.

Mentally calming himself as best as he could, he focused on the fact that his counterpart had emphasized 'people' probably implied that perhaps the enclave near Harper's Ferry was the one that contained the Inhumans. The group that SHIELD had been monitoring and was trying to protect. That meant that this was potentially going to be a giant SNAFU that he and his counterpart were going to engage in. How they would be able to maintain their cover was something that he needed to concentrate on.

In this viper's nest, especially with the two SHIELD agents still under HYDRA's thrall and watching him and Stevie closely, it was now clearly a desperate fight for survival.

~~~

It was Agent Johnson's yelp over the com that alerted him to trouble, as he wrenched the neck of the final one of the twenty-five search and destroy operatives and let the operative drop to the ground like a sack of grain. That and the stream of cursing punctuated by the yell to “get back into the house” had him sprinting from the far side of the enclave back towards the residence where the Inhumans had been living. A far away explosion that sent a plume of smoke into the air also signaled that their quinjet had been found and destroyed. They were grounded with backup coming God-knew-when.

As soon as he cleared the hedges and barreled up the small hill, he saw the tiniest glimpse of black-fatigued soldiers, and flicked the knob on the side of his rifle to semi-auto. The distance between him and his first target was quite far, but at this moment, he didn't care if he wasn't making head shots. He had to whittle down the numbers as fast as he could before they could swarm the house.

Firing, he ducked behind a tree as soon as the bullets flew and hit the first HYDRA backup operative. His position was peppered, as he knew that the trunk of the tree wasn't the widest to completely conceal him. He couldn't afford to wait for a break in the HYDRA operatives trying to pin him down to that position though. Sprinting out, he raised his metal arm to deflect the opportunistic bullets tracking him as he ran and dove into the first floor window of the house.

Screams punctuated his glass-shattering arrival, along with a “Friendly! Don't shoot him!” from Johnson.

He rolled up from his dive into the house, shaking the glass of of him and smoothly lifted the object that had been strapped to his back. He slammed it against the broken window. The ricochet of the bullets against the object was clearly heard, but it was suddenly muffled as he looked up to see that Johnson was furiously typing on her laptop. The group of Inhumans, a Caucasian woman and her young daughter, and two Indians who looked to be related to each other, were crouched behind a makeshift wall of furniture near Johnson. It had been the woman who had stood up protectively in front of the young girl and the other two. Her hands that held the Glock pointed at him were shaking.

Ignoring the group, he turned back to see that there was something shimmering outside, a few inches from the walls and windows. It was also then that his earpiece started to crackle before something ratty in noise tried to connect. “--hear...me? ….om line....jam---”

“Ultron, do you read?” Johnson stated, continuing to type with a hand while pressing her other hand to the com piece in her ear.

Whatever was happening, it was clear that a jamming system had been draped over them. When, he didn't know, but neither him nor Johnson had detected it, which meant that HYDRA was most definitely onto them. He was quite certain that this batch of reinforcements that had responded were not going to be the only ones. He could still hear the bullets pinging outside, but they sounded muffled, almost as if someone were playing a off-tuned xylophone of bullets in the distance.

Pressing himself against the wall of the nearest window that had not been shattered by him, he peeked out for just a moment. What he saw was the strangest thing ever: it was as if there was a holographic shield of sorts surrounding the house. It was just lightly colored enough in an orange hue that he could visually see it. The house was surrounded, that he could clearly see as HYDRA soldiers hiding behind whatever cover they could find, were shooting at the house from all directions.

“---ield deployed....safe...ETA...” Stark's voice came through his earpiece.

“Ultron, repeat,” Johnson demanded.

He mentally frowned at the call sign that Johnson had designated Stark. He had heard the name 'Ultron' before, but recalled that it had been associated with one of Stark's robots, who had apparently gone mad. From what he could piece together, Sokovia had been in the cross hairs of the robot for some reason that the news never stated, and that he could not fathom. There seemed to be no sign of madness within the AI Stark of this reality, and it didn't take much thought to presume that perhaps the usual Iron Man call sign associated with Stark was useless or non-existent here.

“ETA 10 minutes. Incoming for HYDRA reinforcements in five,” Stark's voice sounded over the com line, this time clearly after something cleared it up.

“ _..._ _отвлекаю...?_ ”

He didn't know who the voice belong to, except that it was clearly female and from a fragment of his Winter Soldier memories. It was, however, the most appropriate memory for him to remember at this very moment. “They're never going to make it through,” he growled, tapping his earpiece, hoping that perhaps Stark or if SHIELD was listening in, they would hear his words.

“This is Nomad. Lower the shield. The perimeter is getting thick and it needs to be thinned out,” he stated.

Lifting himself away from the unshattered window and back to where he had left the covering for the shattered window, he yanked it up, climbed out, and replaced it. Baring an unkind grin at the HYDRA soldiers who saw him standing with his back to the house as he swung his rifle forward and held it in a tight grip, they ineffectively opened fire on him, hitting the transparent shield. Over the loud pinging din, he managed to hear Sam Wilson's voice crackle over the com, saying, “Copy. Hone in on his position and do it, Ultron. Redwing and I are incoming in fifteen seconds.”

~~~

The circular shield on Steve's back felt heavy, even heavier than the wary eyes that watched him as the quinjet descended among the chaos of HYDRA soldiers disguised as SHIELD operatives. The soldiers were running towards where there was clearly a firefight happening. Several houses in the neighborhood were already on fire, and he could only hope that those living in the enclave had been evacuated before the firefight had broken out. Still, he couldn't help but ask over the com line that linked him to the control center that Madam Hydra was now running point from, “Have the civilians been evacuated, Director?”

“Yes,” came the surprising answer from Bucky, as both Steve and his counterpart stepped to the side to allow him through from his position near the cockpit.

He saw him grab a rifle from the retractable weapons' locker and a few ammo clips, storing them in pouches. The methodical movement that this reality's Bucky displayed in even the arming of himself sent a strange bout of grief surging through Steve. He remembered seeing Bucky performing the same movement, storing cartridges of sniper rounds in the same pouches that this reality's Bucky was currently doing – even if it had been during World War Two. It was eerie, seeing a mirror of his memories at this very moment.

“Where do you want them, doc?” Bucky continued as the ramp hissed and descended, letting the chaotic noise of people shouting orders, gunfire filling the air, and the screams of the dying fill the formerly quiet enclosure.

“Wherever the fight is the thickest,” he heard Dr. Fitz state in a languid, almost uncaring tone, before sharply saying, “And don't call me 'doc', _Agent_ Barnes.”

For a second, Bucky didn't answer, and Steve had a fleeting moment of hope that perhaps Stevie was wrong about him; perhaps-- “Rogers-two, take point, five hundred meters north-by-northwest. Straight towards the house where the Inhumans are. Doc you're with me.”

“Aye, sir,” Stevie answered in a crisp tone, betraying nothing that was going through her mind, nor indicating anything to Steve as to what they should do in this situation. She gave a quick double check of her current cartridge before ramming it back up in her rifle and readied it.

Steve pulled the circular shield forward, while withdrawing his handgun. Considering that Dr. Fitz had all but shoved Stevie's silver and red-star vibranium shield upon him for the comparison 'tests', he supposed that them forcing him to also wield a handgun was kinder than forcing a rifle upon him. He had tried to protest and state that he only fought with the vibranium shield, but Stevie had intervened and convinced the other two men to just let him take a handgun.

He couldn't read her intent when she had done that, but he knew exactly how close he had to be to ensure an accurate kill shot with a handgun. He could only assume that she was giving him the opportunity to use the shield as much as possible to knock out SHIELD personnel or possibly ensure collateral damage to HYDRA soldiers.

“Thought you were a military man, _Captain_ ,” Bucky stated just as Steve took a few steps forward to follow his counterpart out. “Thought you types usually acknowledged orders--”

“ _Yes_ , sir,” he ground out, pausing in his half-step, turning slightly enough for him to glare at him. All previous thoughts, all eeriness at the memories he had of Bucky, were erased by the infuriatingly arrogant, belittling tone that this Bucky had spoken with. Never had he heard such a tone emerge from Bucky's lips – not even that one time Bucky had truly been angry at him for running off to confront the Delancey cousins alone in Queens. “Orders acknowledged, _sir_.”

If Steve needed anymore incentive to differentiate between his Bucky and this reality's Bucky, the smirk that appeared was nearly enough to make his blood boil. That smirk did not belong on that face – it was so wrong... so heart-breakingly wrong. It was the same self-important grin he used to desperately tried to wipe off of bullies in and around Brooklyn-- “Rogers!”

Stevie's shout snapped him out of the red haze that had settled over his eyes, as her next words refocused him, with her saying, “Channel seven secure. They're gaining ground. We're going to have to hurry if the doc wants his data.”

Nodding once, he huffed once and took off, sprinting at pace with Stevie, careful not to overtake her. It wasn't even his fastest speed, but it was a good clip that was comparable to a well-trained soldier's running pace. He didn't even feel like rushing into battle, with a sick feeling crawling over him as he saw HYDRA soldiers all around him falling to the bullets from SHIELD operatives peppered their positions. He occasionally brought up his shield, covering both him and his counterpart for brief moments in time as stray or ricocheted bullets from either side flew towards them.

Less than one hundred meters away from the house where the Inhumans were, was where the fighting was the thickest. The entire area was decimated – houses, stone walls, trees, bushes, even the hedges; burnt, broken, shattered, and crumbled. Some fires had been put out, and some were still burning, creating a thick wall of smoke. A familiar whooshing sound made him look up, only to see the equally familiar outline of Sam, wearing the harness and wings of the dark red Falcon Exosuit. He was followed closely by another man wearing a dark blue Exosuit of a similar model. The gust of wind created by the two, as they sent covering fire for SHIELD over HYDRA's heads, thinned out the smoke between the sides just enough for Steve to see that SHIELD had deployed a strange perimeter shield around the house.

It also revealed the one thing that sent dread running through Steve's stomach. Fighting and covering the retreat of several injured SHIELD operatives near the eastern corner of the house was none other than Bucky. It was not the peek of his sleek black metal fingers from the prosthetic arm he wore that gave it away, nor the half-helmet mask that he wore; it was the fact that Bucky was wearing...fighting against HYDRA in _his_ uniform.

Steve had to make contact with Bucky; find a way to let his best friend know that he and Stevie were in the middle of this firefight. He needed to warn Bucky to flee so that he wasn't forced to fight him again. He couldn't anyways if it came down to that, but he didn't want to jeopardize Stevie's cover either. So he threw the silver and red-star shield, as hard as he could, straight towards Bucky.

It was surreal, the way the shield arced, with the firelight glinting off it it, as it sailed through the air. The last time Steve had thrown the shield at Bucky, he had been utterly stunned by the fact that the Winter Soldier had caught the shield one-handed with his metal arm – had not anticipated someone deflecting, much less stopping the shield. This time, as he watched the shield arc towards Bucky, he saw him turn, reacting as he had done all those years ago. And just like that night when Steve had encountered the Winter Soldier for the first time, Bucky completely arrested the movement of the silver red-star shield with his metal arm clad in the stars and stripes uniform of Captain America.

 

~*~*~*~

 


	4. Memory: ржавый

 

_**Begin Memory: ржавый** _

_Year:_ _1943, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Autumn, no additional fragments_

_Time: Late Afternoon, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

Even though the forest that they trudged through was mostly of the pine variety, there were occasionally a few trees that had leaves changing color. It added some life and splashes of color to the drab, dreary days upon end of them hunting down Krauts and HYDRA soldiers behind enemy lines. The only thing that Bucky appreciated at the moment was not the bright red-green-leafed tree that they had passed a few yards back that had been standing proudly near the creek, but the fact that it was not cold as it had been for the past few days.

The unusual warmth had followed an enormous windstorm that had plowed into the area a few days ago, forcing the Howling Commandos to take shelter in a cave for three days. The rain that had fallen had also caused the river to swell. That in turn had washed away the bridge that they had been hoping to cross. Thus they had been forced to ford the river a few miles more north where the water was not rushing down and threatening to drag even Steve under.

However, that rain had also caused the ground that they trampled on to become incredibly soggy. After he had fallen into a sinkhole up to his waist that thankfully only contained water, and climbed out, they had been a little more careful to tromp through the area. Unfortunately, he had to sweep the perimeter of their advance in wet clothes – hell, even his socks were wet. Fortunately, it was warm, so at least he wasn't freezing. The other fortunate part was that it seemed that his fall into the water and subsequent fish out was a deterrent against the swarm of bugs that now surrounded them.

Bucky couldn't help but openly bark in laughter, as the rest of the commandos, including Steve were swatting whichever way, trying to get the annoying bugs away. A half-mile perimeter had already been scouted, as they were about to make camp, and thus he didn't have to worry about Krauts or HYDRA hearing him.

As he sat down on a broken log and begun to gather the kindling and whatever firewood that had been found in the immediate area, he also shucked off his soggy boots and even soggier socks. Finding two sticks of a good enough size, he stuck both of his wet socks through the ends and stuck the other ends of the sticks on the ground. Sock pike they may have been, but it was going to be quicker for him to dry the socks next to the fire. Across from where he was sitting was Morita and Falsworth – both were setting up the tents. The rest of the Howling Commandos were either on another perimeter patrol, refilling their canteens, or gathering firewood, though DumDum was most likely hunting down a rabbit or something.

“That is a terrible smell,” he heard Morita complain as he looked up to see him point at the sock pikes.

Holding up his hands in innocence, Bucky merely shook his head and smiled before returning to his current task. Picking up several good-sized stones around him, he placed them next to the pile of kindling and starter firewood. It was not his fault that the sinkhole water produced a rather unpleasant smell, though it kept the swarms away. The rest of the commandos were just going to have to deal with the foul smell until they were dried.

Turning towards the formerly soggy, but somewhat dried pack that he had been carrying, he dug around to try to find the shovel. While normally, he used it to create foxholes, considering how far back they were behind enemy lines, they needed more of an in-ground hearth than a campfire. The in-ground hearth would be easier and quicker to douse with the dirt, should any German or HYDRA soldiers breach their perimeter.

Frowning as he continued to dig around, feeling some really strange mud-like texture within his pack, he continued to rummage about. After a minute of digging around, he pulled his hand out, only to find it covered in mud. He wondered where his shovel went; it had been in his pack yesterday when he had finished digging several holes to bury and hide the scraps of bone and skin from the rabbits they had caught and ate.

Seeing that he had no other choice, he overturned his pack and emptied it of its contents. Half of what had been inside of the pack fell out among a mass of red-brown mud, along with an extremely foul smell that had him gagging. “Aw, shit,” he heard Morita exclaim, just as Falsworth echoed the sentiment.

Bucky backed far and away from whatever the hell it was that had been in his pack. No shovel, no tin cup, no tins that contained his rations were among the pile that had been dumped out. While he wouldn't put it past some of the more practical jokers within their group putting poop in his pack, they hadn't the opportunity to do so today. He had made sure everything was stored in his pack before they had broken camp...unless...

Quickly unbuckling his belt, he yanked both it and the leather-cloth-stitched packs that had been looped through the belt, off. Opening every single compartment, he over turned those, and to his horror, the same red-brown, extremely foul-smelling goop plopped out onto the ground. Every single one of his ammunition cartridges for his sniper file, his combat knives – everything that was metal was gone. All of it had somehow been turned into mud, and the most likely culprit was that sinkhole he had fallen into, in the mid-morning.

Swearing at the same time Falsworth did, he looked up and caught the Englishman's eyes. This was no longer a joke, no longer about complaining how awful stuff smelled – whatever had turned metal into mud was still on him, on his clothes, and he had slogged through the entire day in it. “Three-quarters-miles to the west,” Falsworth said, standing up at the same time he did, snatching his rifle up. “I'll let the others know about the contamination.”

“Thanks,” he managed to say before he took off, running in the direction that Falsworth had indicated where the river they had crossed earlier, was. The current of the river at this position relative to their crossing was rougher, since they had made their way south after crossing. However, at this moment, Bucky didn't really care – he needed the current to wash not only himself, but also his clothes.

His crashing run through the forest and brush was rough and swift, but he managed to not cut his bare feet on the bramble-covered ground. There were a couple of times he had to duck and weave his way through branches that he had nearly ran head-first into. Soon, he could hear the roar of the river, and after running a few more feet, he finally started to encounter river rocks under his feet.

Gingerly making his way across the slippery river rocks, he managed to spot a small eddy pool a few feet down from where he had emerged from the forest. The roaring white-capped river was rushing by beyond the eddy pool. It was not deep, but it was surrounded by two large boulders, that gave him just enough room to jump in and not be swept under or away. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he braced himself and jumped into the eddy pool.

It was freezing cold, colder than the area they had crossed early in the morning. Fighting against the still-strong current that tried to pin him against the boulder, he spluttered as he surfaced and clung onto the boulder for a moment before swimming closer to the shore. When he was sure he was not going to be carried out by the eddy pool's swirling current, he took another few deep breaths and plunged below again. As magnificent as the river looked underwater, he quickly worked on getting his clothes off, surfacing every so often to draw breath and to slap his wet clothes against the boulder, using it as a makeshift washboard.

While he was sure that he could remain in his clothes while in the river, considering what the potential culprit had done to his supplies, he wanted to make sure that every inch of his skin was thoroughly buffeted by the water. He didn't want anything of the potential contaminated sinkhole water and silt he had fallen into, to remain on him. However, he also knew that he couldn't stay in the water for long – it was too damn cold.

Surfacing, he heard an unexpected voice exclaim, “Bucky!”

Looking up and over, he saw Steve crouched along the shore, extending a hand towards him. Grateful, he grabbed on and with Steve's help, was lifted out of the eddy pool, though he reached back to grab the pieces of clothing with one hand. Though he was completely naked, he didn't care as he sat down on the ground, not realizing how exhausted he was. He hadn't realized just how much of a fight he had put up with the current in the eddy pool until now. His wet clothes had been dumped to the ground, but he would wring the water out of them in a few minutes.

Steve sat down next to him, but despite how tired he was, Bucky couldn't help but laugh. A few moments later, Steve joined in, in the laughter – his chuckles to Bucky's outright laughter. It reminded Bucky of the first time he and Steve had went to Coney Island, and the first time he had jumped into the water at the end of the pier. Steve had panicked, remaining on the pier until he had surfaced. He had then tried to convince him to jump into the water as well, though back then, he hadn't realized just how strong the current at the end of the pier had been. It had been a good thing that Steve had been a stubborn ass and refused to jump in. Bucky had spent the rest of the day, after getting out of the water, using Steve's lap as a pillow and sleeping until the sun had set. Their first grand adventure on Coney Island had turned out to be a simple, ordinary, lazy summer day.

“Need a nap?” Steve asked in between chuckles.

“No,” he snorted, nudging his best friend with an elbow. “But thanks for the offer, punk.”

The laughter and lightness in Steve's eyes died as Bucky frowned slightly, wondering why there was a searching look in Steve's eyes. He received his answer a moment later when Steve murmured, “Turn slightly to your right. There's nothing on this side to indicate that the sinkhole water's done anything to you.”

Bucky obliged, shifting slightly. Somehow, despite the intensity in Steve's eyes, he did not feel any discomfort, unlike when the doctors at camp had performed physical check-ups on all of the former prisoners to make sure that they were still fit for duty. The doctor who had examined him when it had been his turn had made him feel very uncomfortable, even though he had not been questioned during the checkup, and only had a stethoscope pressed against his chest. He never had been afraid of a doctor, but since being rescued from the HYDRA facility, he couldn't shake that uncomfortable feeling.

“Well, nothing,” Steve said after a few moments, as Bucky returned to sitting in his original position. “Looks like the water was only interested in making whatever metal things you carried into mud.”

“Still externally 'Adonis'?” he joked, knowing that it still embarrassed Steve to bring up the silliest fight they had back in the day – Steve's apparent jealousy that he, Bucky, had grown up and into a body that was Steve's ideal. Steve had initially felt angry that he had gotten the short end of the stick in terms of puberty, but Bucky had promised him to make sure that every date he went on with a girl, Steve would be included – double dating. He didn't mind it, and it gave him great insight as to how the girls he dated treated Steve. It was also why he never stayed with any girl for more than one or two dates – they were all terrible towards Steve, and thus he knew they would treat other not-fortunate people the same.

“Still externally a jerk,” Steve answered, rolling his eyes slightly.

“I'll be sure to let you know if my piss starts hurting,” he dryly answered, grinning as Steve merely shook his head in exasperation.

Now, after the serum had transformed Steve, Bucky did not need to even see Steve out of his uniform to know that the punk was attracting a lot of physically lustful attention from the women at the SSR base. Hell, the kid was also attracting attention from men as well, though Bucky had seen that most of the men were jealous because of the physique that Steve had been granted with the serum. However, only a few of the other men and women at the SSR headquarters had different designs on Steve... and well, that was something _he_ made sure that Steve was never privy to. There was something endearing about the innocence that Steve had and displayed, and Bucky hated to see that innocence destroyed by some male or female harpy.

“Here. Morita told me to give this to you,” Steve said after a few moments, reaching behind to pluck something from under his shield. “He felt bad after making all those quips about your stuff smelling worse than horse shit.”

Bucky felt the cloth being draped over him, and looked over slightly to see that Morita had given him his bomber jacket. He half-snorted, finding it hilarious. Though the jacket was slightly smaller than what he could wear comfortably, he tucked it closer to him, wearing it as one would a cape. It was better than walking back to camp stark naked and without any piece of clothing to keep him relatively warm.

After a few minutes of sitting in relatively peaceful silence that he didn't realize he had missed, he sighed and said, “Guess we should be getting back before they eat all the _delicious_ boiled food.”

At that, he heard Steve bark in laughter, before seeing him nod in agreement. Dragging a piece of his clothing that he had left in a pile, he wrung it out to the side, just as he saw out of the corner of his eyes, Steve get up, taking something with him. Steve knelt down by the shore and stuck both hands in the water for a few moments, wringing those something in his hands around. It wasn't until he saw him turn back around that he realized that he had all but forgotten about his socks and boots.

“Thanks,” he said, wringing out the last of his clothes before getting up and tied Morita's jacket around his waist.

The trek back to the camp was going to be rough, now that he didn't have the 'protection' of the foul-smelling water on him anymore. The best he could do was protect the most important asset he had from bug bites, because he knew how much those itched and hurt like hell after that one summer he had wandered in and about the marshes of Oyster Bay.

Scooping up his clothes and draping it all over him in an attempt to cover as much of his body as possible without slogging through wet clothes, he felt Steve clap his hand over his shoulder saying, “At least Vera hasn't rusted into mud.”

“That's my girl,” he said, smiling half in relief at the confirmation that Steve had given him about his beloved sniper rifle with the out-of-regulations divot at the end of the barrel. His sniper rifle was still intact, mainly thanks to his quick thinking of raising it high above in the air when he had plunged into the sinkhole. “I'm going to baby her until the day I die.”

He felt Steve pull him in a little closer and in a more serious tone, asked, “You going to be good to go for tomorrow's mission, Buck? I can delay it and send Monty with you back to camp to resupply.”

“Don't,” he answered, shaking his head slightly. “We're not going to get another shot at this, Steve. All of my stuff might be rusted to mud, but as long as I have my rifle, I can still make it work.”

 

_**End Memory: ржавый** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	5. семнадцать (Seventeen)

 

**Chapter 3: семнадцать (Seventeen)**

 

_Your work has been a gift to mankind..._

He blinked once, staring right at Rogers with some disdain as he easily caught the silver shield, not even feeling the full force of impact of vibranium disc versus vibranium arm. While the feedback told him that the force of the throw would have most likely deforested at least three, hundred-year-old oaks, he stayed planted to the ground where he was. The irony was not lost on him that Rogers had chosen this particular way to call attention to him being on the battlefield.

He had a choice now, throw the shield back at Rogers to acknowledge the receipt of the message and there by potentially engaging both Rogers and Rogers' counterpart, or...

The battlefield was a chaotic place, and in that chaos, every soldier, every operative, every person had something to do. The fact that there was a young man standing nonchalantly in the open, on the HYDRA side, looking around as if this were all a contemptuous waste of his time, was incredibly strange. He had fragments of the memories that told him of his handlers watching him train various operatives, always judging, evaluating, and writing notes on their clipboards. He also had other fragments that told of the secret fist fights in the 'underground' of Brooklyn, where he had challenged those whom had picked on Rogers. Others had watched the fights, evaluating, judging his every move.

That was what this lone stranger, this lone HYDRA person was doing: judging, evaluating, watching, observing. It was not him this time, but rather Rogers – with eyes that spoke of dispassion, of uncaring whether or not those in the battlefield lived or died, only that they served one purpose: data.

Drawing his arm back, he threw the silver-and-red-star shield at the observer, before turning to retrieve the object he had formerly stored as an alternative to the window he had shattered with his entrance into the house. He stopped short of completing his turn – the shield that he had taken with him, a mirror of the circular shield that Rogers used to wield in their reality, was missing. He quickly looked around – there was no one within the vicinity wielding the red-white-blue shield – and looked back towards where the silver-and-red shield was about to hit its target.

To his surprise, rather than Rogers diving towards the shield to prevent it from hitting the observer, he saw Rogers' counterpart dive in front of the shield. She caught it in her stomach and was thrown back into the ground. A momentary flash of guilt flooded him, but that was quickly erased as his instincts screamed at him, warning him of an incoming attack.

He raised his metal arm up, just as the red-white-blue circular shield he had been looking for rammed into his metal arm. While the force behind the impact was not as powerful as the one behind Rogers' throw, the person wielding it caused him to widen his eyes a fraction and hesitate for a split second.

It was like looking into a mirror; one that floated in the far reaches of his fragments; of seeing himself in a dusty, rust-covered mirror. There was a killer instinct behind the force of the attack made by his counterpart, but instead of the denial that had seared its way through his mind just three days ago, it was strangely absent. The mirror stared back, but his mind was not denying the reflection, and he knew not why—no, he knew why.

This James Barnes who had attacked him with the red-white-blue shield was _not_ a HYDRA agent—

Or was he?

There was no time to process the thought as instinct overtook him and he curled his hands around the shield, ripping it off of his counterpart's grip. Swinging it around, he managed to bring it up to cover his chest just in the nick of time. He flew back, hitting the broad tree trunk with enough force to arrest his movement for a single second before both he and the tree collapsed backwards. Roots and blackened dirt flew up, obscuring his vision for a brief moment Instinct overtook him again, wiping away the stars that had briefly sprang across his eyes.

He swung his shield to cover his right side, as he lashed out, punching at the black-suited small blur who viciously attacked him. Narrowing his eyes as he rolled off of the trunk and continued to duck and weave this way and that, each attempt to counterattack was met head-on with an equal kick or punch. Blow by blow, his attacker was matching his pace, and frighteningly, matching the force he was putting behind his attacks. He was being forced back, forced to wade further into the line that SHIELD was holding to evacuate as many people as they could, and yet the black blur never relented.

Gritting his teeth as he felt a glancing blow impact his metal arm, having barely dodged the snap kick from his attacker. Turning to his right as he spun up the momentum for his own retaliatory kick, it was the burst of “Incoming!” that made him raise his metal arm instead of his left leg for the kick.

He rocked back for just a moment before he was swiftly lifted from the ground, with his metal hand firmly grasped onto the two-handed grip that Wilson had on him. Falcon's swift dive to pluck him off the ground in the evacuation plan was fast enough for his attacker to miss jumping and trying to cling onto him. As he saw his attacker tumble back to the ground, rolling forward to take the impact, he found himself frowning even more than he initially had. Though her hair was blonde in this incarnation, she still looked the same as he remembered her. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanov, had been the one to viciously and relentlessly attack him.

He remembered her being quite agile and wily, using her small size to her advantage to get around several of his defensive maneuvers during the time he had attacked her, Wilson, and Rogers on the DC freeway. That was now quite evident in the attack that she had deployed, and he would not make the same mistake yet again of underestimating her. Yet he didn't remember her being quite as strong as now, especially with her head-on attack and ability to withstand punching the vibranium shield Stark had insisted that he wield.

“Okay, depositing,” Wilson's voice crackled in his ear, as he refocused his attention from the rapidly fading specs on the ground that were HYDRA soldiers trying to scramble back to their quinjets. Looking up, he saw the open cargo bay of the quinjet approaching and curled up slightly. Wilson didn't toss him in, but he did skip a few steps into the bay, as Wilson skidded to a halt, firing his thrusters to slow his own momentum down.

As the Director of SHIELD punched the button to close the ramp and retracted the wings of his exosuit, he heard him confirm over the com while walking to the cockpit, saying, “Falcon and Nomad in the nest. All flights, roll call.”

There was a rattle of affirmatives over the com channel as various personnel called in to confirm that they were present and accounted for. Taking the nearest jump seat, which happened to be next to Johnson, he removed the shield from his right arm and placed it to the side. He also briefly looked up to see that the four civilians were sitting across in the other jump seats, but were situated nearer to the cockpit than towards the cargo bay ramp. Fear was quite evident in their eyes, but that was nearly eclipsed by relief and exhaustion that he could see upon them.

He yanked off his helmet, feeling sweat drip down his forehead and into his eyes as he looked back down and stared at the floor of the quinjet. The fragments were swirling in a storm and it was difficult for him to grasp onto one, or to concentrate on the memories he had successfully stitched together. His mind and thoughts were racing, and he could only stare at the floor, imploring it to try to ground him. He needed something to help him make sense of what he had just seen in the mirror of himself, and of Romanov's curiously unusual strength in that battle.

It was only when two small feet covered in dainty red-scuffed shoes appeared in the upper part of his vision that he lifted his head slightly. The little girl whom her mother had shielded with the Glock in her hands was standing before him. She had the widest eyes that he had ever seen, but instead of the innocence that they were supposed to contain, those eyes of hers seemed to speak of so many horrors that no person should have seen.

“Robin, please come back and sit. Stop bothering that man,” he heard the girl's mother plead.

Instead of acknowledging or even answering her, the girl remained. Even Johnson had chimed in with a kind, “Hey, Robin, we're still flying and it can get a little bumpy. We don't want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

“You are one in the same,” the girl softly stated, as he saw her hands out from behind her, holding a piece of folded paper. She held it out to him, and he frowned as he gingerly took it. Before he could unfold it, she abruptly turned and went back to sit next to her mother in her jump seat.

Unfolding the paper, he glanced over towards the girl, but she had turned and buried her head within her mother's chest, seemingly fast asleep. He returned his attention to the paper and found that while it had been kind of crudely drawn with colored pencils and crayons, the picture it conveyed chilled him.

There was a thick black line running down the middle of the paper. On the right side was a representation of him, drawn with the long brown hair, complete with the glasses and face mask he used to wear as the Winter Soldier. A black rectangle that represented his kevlar vest, and two long rectangles for his legs made up his body, but it was the clear silver rectangular representation of the metal arm with a red star on the shoulder that cemented the drawing of him.

On the left side was a drawing of him with short brown hair, purple rectangle representing the uniform he wore during his time in the Howling Commandos, and the same long rectangles for legs. His eyes had been darkened as if he were wearing a domino mask or kohl to help block out extraneous or reflective light whenever he pressed his eye into a scope.

The chilling thing was not the fact that he had fragments of both memories, but the fact that on the upper left corner of the Winter Soldier representation was the SHIELD eagle. The Howling Commando representation had the HYDRA octopus on the upper right corner. This was both him and his counterpart—he glanced over towards the girl again for a brief moment before looking back down at the drawing.

“Okay...” he heard Johnson softly say. “She definitely knows about the Widowmaker and HYDRA, and I guess, if the image on the right is anything to go by... you? But this is stuff we already know. In the real-world, Robin's drawings always told of the future, not the past.”

He wanted to contradict her, to tell her that her interpretation of the drawing was incorrect, but he didn't know why he held his tongue. Why didn't he feel like sharing his suspicion, even if it was whispered to Johnson and would not be heard by anyone else in the quinjet? Why did he feel the need to keep secret that he thought that this reality's James Barnes was not the brainwashed turncoat that everyone thought him to be?

Why did he think that his counterpart was the actual mole for SHIELD within HYDRA?

* * *

Steve stared at the uprooted pine tree that had been toppled over by Bucky when he had slammed into it. Though it was noisy with the sounds of HYDRA personnel performing after-action cleanup and 'securing' the area, all he could hear was his own fog of breath, his own heart pounding in his chest. His entry and the rapid escape of SHIELD had happened so fast, that after he had seen the silver-and-red shield fly back on a different trajectory, he hadn't even gotten a chance to properly do something in that battle. SHIELD had fled, faster than even HYDRA had anticipated, though he had a feeling that some of HYDRA's hesitancy in perusing had been due to who Bucky had briefly fought against.

“...yes, and we will be conducting a manhunt for the one who looks like the dead rebel, Captain America.”

He turned his head slightly at the familiar voice, but equally unfamiliar words that spilled out of Natasha Romanov's lips. She was standing a few yards away from where he was, currently talking to a reporter who had arrived on the scene, shortly after the last SHIELD quinjet had taken off. Standing next to her was this reality's Bucky, nodding and agreeing with her words.

It had happened so fast that he didn't even have time to call out a warning to Bucky – wishing that he had not thrown the shield back, and instead had kept it. Somehow, this reality's Bucky had managed to get past the line that SHIELD had been trying to hold, taken the red-white-blue shield that Bucky wielded, and rammed it into Bucky. That had been a complete feint, as Natasha, or rather, Black Widow, had then proceeded to attack Bucky, kicking him with enough force to slam him into the pine tree and uproot it.

“Hey, you all right?”

He turned his attention from the press briefing that Black Widow and this reality's Bucky – Barnes, he decided to mentally label him – were conducting, focusing on the source of the voice to his left. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Is Dr. Fitz...?”

“He's fine,” she answered.

“Are you?” he began, but faltered, unable to bring himself to continue to ask about her potential injury from catching the shield that Bucky had thrown back in an attempt to divert both or one of their attentions away. It had been Stevie who had reacted faster to the thrown shield, catching it in her stomach, and for a second, Steve had thought that she had clearly been injured by Bucky's toss, and had nearly raced towards her before seeing a warning look flash across her eyes. She had not been injured, but she was trying to fake her injury.

“Nothing that a few ice packs and a good stiff drink can't cure,” she answered, gesturing to an ice pack that had been bound using a fabric bandage around her waist. She had also briefly tapped her ear to indicate that they were still being monitored, though that action was made to look like she was just brushing her unusual hairstyle out of her face. “By the way, the Doctor is looking for you.”

He looked around and spotted the well-dressed young man standing next to a quinjet's ramp, inspecting his surroundings with an apathetic look. There were numerous agents running back and forth, some beckoning for medics to follow them, while others were running stretchers to pick up the wounded and dead. “He can wait,” he stated, heading off in the opposite direction. “We got injured and wounded to move first.”

HYDRA or no, there were most likely soldiers trapped under rubble. He didn't know how many of them were digital code and how many were actual people placed in the Framework to be brainwashed, but he wasn't going to let them die. He knew that it was counter intuitive to even let enemy soldiers live, but he hoped that perhaps if Tony's code virus was able to be replicated in others, other than Dr. Fitz, perhaps they would see the folly of their ways. The soldiers of HYDRA during the war were already absolutely loyal to the Red Skull, but here... these people were under the yolk of an oppressor they had been forced to swallow and accept. He had to help them, even if it meant that he would be potentially causing himself trouble in the long run.

“Don't do this, Steve,” she murmured from his side.

He ignored her. Reaching the first area where there was a partially collapsed wall from a house covering a wide swath in broken but heavy pieces, he weaved his way forward. Ignoring the commanding officer of the team who was doing everything but coordinate on how to get a few people trapped under there out, Steve crouched and braced his arms and hands under the first block. Slowly, inch by inch, he heaved and lifted the block, until he he heard his counterpart step in and set the vibranium shield as a wedge to hold the block up.

She then barked orders at the team commander to begin dragging those stuck out, as Steve stepped back for a moment. Seeing that at least this little group of HYDRA soldiers were finally responding, he stepped away and made his way around the collapsed wall. He could hear the echoes of other soldiers trapped under rubble and pinpointed it to another section a little further down the line where he could safely lift the wall and flip it to the side.

Same as before, he braced and lifted, but since the shield was still being used on the other side, he held it up as Stevie crouched as best as she could, feigning injury, and pulled on a pair of hands that had wriggled out of the hole made. The dirtied and bloodied HYDRA soldier was injured, with what looked to be a broken leg and deep gash across one of her arms that was bleeding quite freely. However, after that soldier had been pulled out and dragged a few feet away from the rubble, he heard another faint voice – someone was stuck in the middle of the entire rubble – someone who sounded like a civilian, not a soldier.

“They're soldiers, not civilians, _Captain_ Rogers,” the familiar husky purr of a voice startled him before he could say anything with regards to the possibility of a civilian being trapped.

He turned his head slightly back, nearly dropping the slab in surprise at the appearance of Natasha Romanov, appearing behind him. “Nat,” he automatically greeted, but realized his error too late.

“Ah, so I do have a counterpart in your reality,” she said, smiling in a way that sent unease and chills down his back.

There was a predatory look in her eyes that seemed so out of place. As soon as she took a step towards him, he found himself shifting away from her. It was as if this Natasha Romanov was the actual embodiment of her call sign taken human form. The urge to just drop the slab and back far away from her was great, and that was what frightened Steve the most.

Before she could take another step in his direction though, it was surprisingly Barnes who interrupted, saying, “I hear someone else in there.”

“Civilian,” he said, taking whatever he could at the moment for relief and interruption from Natasha's attempt to close the distance. “I think.”

“Not my concern then,” he heard Natasha state in an unconcerned tone, as she dusted her hands and turned around, making her way to Stevie. “Get out of the way, Agent Rogers.”

“Ma'am,” he heard Stevie begin, rising up from her crouch and emergency medical ministrations on the soldier.

“You know the protocol, Agent,” Natasha stated.

For a moment, Steve could see the clear anger in her eyes before she cast them down and stood up, taking a couple of steps away. It happened so fast that he didn't even see where Natasha had drawn the knife from, but only saw the aftermath of a blood spurting up from the gash that she had inflicted on the wounded soldier's neck. The soldier flopped over, dead, with her blood spilling out and puddling on the blackened dirt.

“What the hell?” he managed to say as he saw Natasha crouch down and wipe her blade off on the dead soldier's uniform before getting up and walking away.

“Standard protocol.” It had been his counterpart who had stated those words as he saw her finally look back up with a hardness in her eyes that looked similar to the countless amounts of time he had seen in Fury's eyes.

“W-why?” he uttered, trying to make sense, silently pleading with Stevie to help him make sense of what had happened. There was nothing 'standard protocol' about the cold-blooded execution he had just witnessed.

“You'd better hope that that person stuck down there is a civilian, Captain,” Steve heard Barnes state in a cold tone, just as his anger nearly overtook him.

“I'll go get the shield,” Stevie stated, as he heard the crunch of boots on the blackened ground. “We'll need it to prop up that slab.”

It was Stevie's brief hand on his shoulder that prevented him from lashing out, from blowing their covers to kingdom come at the injustice of what had just happened. He managed to take a deep breath as he stared at the ground, and even though he wanted to glare at Barnes, he managed to refrain from doing so. Instead, he continued to breath, continued to hold the slab up with as steady of his hands as possible, letting its weight, the strain of keeping it up ground him. This was not his world, this was not his reality, these were people he did not know. His Bucky, his Natasha, his home was not here--

“Can you lift it up just a little more, please, Steve?”

He looked up to see his counterpart crouched before him, shield in hand, and nodded. Hefting the slab a little higher, she then wedged the shield under it. The person stuck in the center of the rubble was still crying out, but before he could shimmy down into the tunnel created, Stevie immediately slid under the slab. He saw her disappear and for a minute, there was no sound – even the cries for help had fallen silent. He didn't hear any creak or otherwise to indicate that the rubble had fallen or collapsed.

Another minute passed, but suddenly hands were being thrust out of the tunnel, that was followed by him hearing Stevie faintly say, “No injuries.”. He grasped onto the wrists, and pulled a young teenager out of the rubble. Just as he let the boy's wrists go and turned back to help Stevie out, he was surprised to see her being pulled out by Barnes.

“Kid,” he heard him turn his attention to the teenager and say as Stevie stood back up, dusting her hands as best as possible, given that she was covered in dirt and dust. The ice pack that she had had wrapped around her waist was no longer present, but she was still hunching over slightly. “There's a checkpoint over there. They'll relocate you.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said and loped off in the direction indicated.

“You're still going to do this, Captain Rogers?” he heard him state in an annoyed tone.

Steve looked at him squarely in the eyes, seeing only a blankness there that he had seen reflected in Bucky's eyes before – when he had been the Winter Soldier. There were hints of emotion behind the blankness in those eyes, and none of it friendly or familiar. As much as he wanted to say 'yes' and insist on continuing to rescue people trapped under the rubble, he saw the minute shaking of his counterpart's head, as she stood a little bit behind this reality's Bucky. Beyond her though, he saw Natasha in the distance, bending down slightly and executing another soldier who had been pulled out of the rubble.

There was a heaviness in his heart, and he knew that if he continued to pull out people, rescue them, all he was doing was sending them to a quicker death. He wanted answers, wanted to know why they were doing such a thing inside a simulation when they did not need to rule by fear in a world they controlled. Whatever answers that would be given at this moment would just anger him further, possibly even completely compromising his and his counterpart's covers.

“No,” he said, and brushed pass him, bending down for only a moment to scoop the shield back up.

Hooking it to his back, he made his way around the rubble, with Stevie walking beside him. He avoided looking at the formerly trapped soldiers who had been summarily executed not only by having their throats slit by Natasha, but also shot in the head. As he approached the quinjet where Dr. Fitz was still standing by and waiting, looking thoroughly irritated that he had not reported when summoned earlier, he ignored that as well, and walked up the ramp. Removing the shield and setting it to the side, he sat down on the jump seat and closed his eyes.

Scrubbing his face with his hands as he heard his counterpart take a seat next to him, it was when the Doctor begin in an incredibly patronizing tone that he opened his eyes again. “I thank you for the data that you have provided today, Captain Rogers. Though the fight was much too short for any real test to see what other abilities you have other than enhanced strength, your subsequent attempt to 'rescue' the trapped people has provided me with enough for me to establish a rough baseline. I do hope that in the future--”

“Shut up,” he snarled, dropping his hands and looked up, glaring at him. He was doing his damnest to ignore the fact that both Natasha and Barnes had taken jump seats opposite of him and Stevie, and next to the young engineer-scientist.

The quinjet's ramp hissed closed as the air craft lifted up from the ground, returning to base. However, Steve could no longer hold back his tongue, as he lashed out, saying, “I refuse to believe that this is what SHIELD does – execute soldiers who are trying to do their duty and just happened to get trapped by the enemy. Raid and destroy an entire enclave just to capture civilians. Or allow scientists—no, this is not SHIELD. This is not what SHIELD is supposed to be. You're no better than the cancer that was HYDRA that grew in my world.”

“And what is to say that SHIELD in your world was not the same, Captain Rogers?” the slightly tinny voice of Madam Hydra sounded over the com piece in his ear before she suddenly manifested as a smaller-than-life hologram in the middle of the quinjet's cargo hold. “You told us yourself that your Director sent you to numerous places to 'clean up' SHIELD's mess. You accuse us of being the same as an enemy entity in your world, yet all I see are similarities between SHIELD here and your SHIELD. We are peacekeepers. We take the world as is, not as we want it to be.”

“We didn't execute wounded soldiers,” he ground out.

“Neither did we,” Madam Hydra stated, her tone not sympathetic at all, but not patronizing either. Instead, it was neutral, as she continued to say, “Not until the Resistance found a way to embed themselves within our ranks after an attack had taken place two years ago near the Triskelion. Using stolen uniforms and gears, they disguised themselves as wounded soldiers, trapped under rubble. We rescued them, sent them to hospitals when our own medical facilities were too full of civilians caught up in the battle. They blew themselves up when we got complacent.”

He saw her fold her hands together, pausing as if she were collecting her thoughts. “It's now standard protocol to execute any soldier who has been rescued from rubble. All of our personnel are trained to avoid being trapped in such circumstances, but as you well know, the battlefield is ever changing.”

“Why not just ship them to an isolated area, scan them, interview them,” he argued. Even as a part of them still remembered that this was a simulation, this world was not real, it still felt so real to him. He ached, he could feel rivulets of sweat slid down his face, even the mental exhaustion he felt seemed too real.

“Because that's what we did, _Captain_ ,” the young doctor spoke up, his tone still patronizing, but with a clear hint of anger in them. “How do you stop an Inhuman with the ability to self-detonate, or grow spines and spikes out of her skin to impale people, or who can teleport behind people and kill them easily?”

Steve remained silent, closing his eyes for a brief moment again before opening them again. Was this what his world would have become had he, Sam, and the others not been successful in disabling and destroying the Helicarriers? He mentally shuddered to think that it could have very well been the case. “Respectfully, Madam Hydra,” he began in as even of a tone as he could manage. “This--” he gestured slightly around him, “--this is not protection. It's fear.”

“Respectfully, Captain Rogers,” Madam Hydra answered, looking down for a moment before looking back up. “I believe it is in all of our best interests to get you back to your reality as soon as possible.”

“On that, I agree,” he answered.

“However, there will still be an after-action debriefing that you will have to attend. Your contribution may not have been significant to today's fight, but it is as Dr. Fitz has reported: your unusual strength may just be enough to establish a baseline for what we need,” she said, before turning slightly to Stevie saying, “Agent Rogers, you will be responsible for ensuring that he attends.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she answered.

“And what exactly is it, that you need?” he asked, just as he felt the familiar flip-flop in his stomach turn, indicating that the quinjet was descending for a landing at the Triskelion.

“A surefire way to defeat the Inhumans, once and for all,” the Director of HYDRA stated, before her hologram dissolved.

A few minutes later, the quinjet touched down on the tarmac and he saw Natasha hit the button to lower the ramp. The others exited first and reluctantly, he got up and followed Stevie out, taking the shield with them. Except for Dr. Fitz, they were all headed to the same place though – the armory and locker station where personnel had stored their civilian clothes and donned the black fatigues. It was the same process that he remembered going through whenever he returned from a mission.

Hanging up the shield in its proper place in the armory, he left the area and crossed back into the locker rooms. There was a separate cleaning station for men and women. He stepped up to the locker he had stored his civilian clothes in and opened it, but did not take out the clothes just yet. Though he was reluctant to even continue to move or attend the debrief, he knew that continuing down the line of rebellion that he had started would not bode well.

It was the quick glimpse of Barnes walking across to the showers with a towel in hand, through the standard issued and mounted facial mirror on the locker that shook him out of his troubled thoughts. For one brief moment, an unbidden memory surfaced: that of him feeling jealous that Bucky had been granted a stronger, taller, and very attractive body and physique than he had, after puberty had finished with both of them. Rail skinny Steve Rogers had only been granted the height of five-feet four-inches, with a constitution to match a frail old woman – until the serum had transformed him.

He didn't know why, but that memory made him a little happier, and helped dampen a little of his troubled thoughts. It was enough though, for him to begin stripping the black fatigues off of himself. Grabbing a towel, he headed to the showers, bracing himself for the inevitable googling looks that were sure to come from some of the other men in the showers. Inevitability didn't disappoint, and he kept his eyes forward, ignoring the stares as best as he could – it was also why he usually waited for the other SHIELD personnel to clear out first before taking a shower in a somewhat empty communal space. However, he knew that he didn't have the luxury here to do so, and thus, picked the second-to-last one at the end of the row, the only empty one.

Removing the virus-code ring and placing it on the tiny shelf, he stood there, unmoving under the scalding hot water, letting the steam rise up around him. While he usually didn't do such a thing during his time with SHIELD, here, he just wanted the privacy, or as much as he could get. He didn't even bother soaping up, preferring the water rushing by his ears, though he knew that it was not loud enough to drown out the yell he wanted to unleash. Minute after minute, the steam kept rising, and he kept standing under the shower, until he could not feel the heat on his skin any longer.

It was then that he opened his eyes and saw that the communal showers were nearly emptied. Only two people besides him remained; one of them was this reality's Bucky who was turned away from him, and the other was a soldier at the far end of the showers, nearly finishing cleaning himself up. Scrubbing himself quickly and rinsing back down, he finally turned the tap off and dried himself. His skin looked quite red and raw, but it was quickly returning to its normal color, due to the serum. He could only surmise that any other person standing under that hot of a water would have most likely third-degree burns, but at this moment, he didn't care.

He walked out of the showers and to his slight surprise, the locker room was relatively empty as well. He didn't recall that he had been standing under the water for long, but at least there were fewer people gawking at him than at the beginning. It was something he always hated – even when he was 'stick-thin' Steve. People always stared at him; either in pity or disgust because of just how short he was, or after he had been injected with the serum, with lust and jealousy because of how tall he was. He had tolerated it, but in this den of HYDRA, it was almost unbearable.

“You left this in the shower.”

He turned slightly to see that Barnes was holding the virus-code ring in the palm of his hand. “Thanks,” he managed to say, not only to cover up his surprise at the fact that he did not hear him approach, but also how careless he had been.

He had forgotten he had removed the ring just before he had remained under spray of the water for a while. He usually heard people approach, even when they tried to be stealthy – though Natasha was an exception when she felt like being stealthy in the halls of SHIELD. He was slightly concerned that he didn't even hear this Barnes' approach, considering his demeanor, and he hoped that the ring had not been twisted by him.

For a moment it looked as if Barnes was going to say something else, but that moment passed. He saw him turn and return to his own locker to dress himself. Steve resumed dressing after placing the ring back on the appropriate finger. Though there was nothing to indicate that his civilian clothes had been tampered with, after what SHIELD had done to his uniform by placing a tracker, he had to assume that something of that sort was on his clothes. It would be a reasonable thing to do to supplement the 'escorted guest' status he had within this den of snakes.

He exited from the lockers and to the main area, only to see his counterpart and Natasha waiting. As he approached, both stood, but before he could say a word, he heard footsteps behind him. He saw Barnes breeze past him and Natasha step away from Stevie, who had a barely tolerable look on her expression. Stopping by Stevie, he couldn't help but frown as he saw this reality's Bucky and Natasha leave the area.

“Are they...?” he began, but found himself faltering as he watched them walk down the hall, arms looped around each others' waist, hands drifting lower than what even he thought a proper place to put them. He was half-fascinated, half-horrified by the fact that the two of them were not being subtle at all about their relationship. He knew that various SHIELD personnel in his reality dated each other, were in relationships, or were married, but most had the decorum to keep their public displays of affection to a minimum.

“Yes,” the biting confirmation by his counterpart served to snap him out of the heat of embarrassment he was feeling creeping up. Though he could have taken the confirmation for what it was – another reason why they had to move faster in getting this reality's Bucky out of the Framework, along with Dr. Fitz, there was something in her tone that he thought he had heard.

Still, now was not the time to question her, and he shoved his thoughts about that for later. He began walking in the same direction that the two were headed towards, but much to his surprise, Stevie wasn't by his side. He stopped and glanced back, seeing her with a pinched, angry expression on her face. That expression disappeared a moment later when she uncrossed her arms and began walking, catching up and passing him.

The walk to the briefing room was tense and silent, but it was even more so when the two of them entered it. Four armed guards stood at each corner of the room like silent sentinels. At the center was a round table, with a sophisticated looking interface at the center of it. Silently seating themselves at the round table, Steve did not miss the somewhat invasive and inquisitive look that Dr. Fitz had shot him. Both Natasha and Barnes ignored him and Stevie.

Madam Hydra began the debrief shortly after he and Stevie took a seat, dimming the lights and projecting a still image from what looked to be a body camera of the battle. Though the image was grainy, center most of the image was none other than Bucky wearing his uniform and a cowl-helmet that looked to be heavily modified with unusual lens covering over the eyes. “Thoughts?” Madam Hydra asked.

“Well, Captain America is supposed to be dead,” he heard Barnes state. “Guess the rebels found someone to be their rallying scapegoat. Poor sod. I wonder how much the Resistance bribed him to do such a thing.”

“He caught Rogers' shield, Agent Barnes,” Dr. Fitz spoke up, tapping the table with a finger. There was a look in the young engineer-scientist eyes that Steve did not like as he heard him continue to say, “and if I recall, you pretty much handed his own shield back to him before Agent Romanov attacked.” The young man paused for a second before saying, “That...that would almost constitute treason.” Steve saw him look over to Madam Hydra, almost smirking, and asking, “Wouldn't you consider it so, Ophelia?”

“Doc,” Barnes began over the cascade of four rifles being armed and set. There was an unconcerned look in his eyes, and Steve quickly glanced over towards Stevie to see that she had curled her hands into fists under the table. Beyond her, the two guards on one side of the room had taken a few steps forward, and he could only assume that the other two had done the same.

“Seriously?” he heard him continue as he refocused his attention on him. “He caught that shield, flung it back – at you might I add – and ripped that shield off of my arms. I'm lucky that I only got away with a contusion. Maybe you should ask our guest here if any other super-soldier came _with_ him.”

Steve narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as Barnes had clearly turned and directed that accusation at him. He could not compromise his Bucky, he could not let them know through any of his actions that Bucky was here was well – he had to protect him, even from this turned agent counterpart of his. He placed his hands, palm down on the table and said as calmly as he could, “If... and I emphasize it, _Agent_ Barnes. If any other person was transported here, I certainly do not know who they are. _I_ was Captain America in my reality. I wore the uniform proudly when I served SHIELD. Whoever is wearing that uniform could have either been transported from another reality, or as you said: a poor sod who was convinced to portray a clear enemy of SHIELD.”

“Agent Romanov?” Madam Hydra asked after a moment of silence, but Steve did not remove his hands from the table just yet.

Steve felt Natasha's eyes roam over him, but as much as he wanted to flinch from the look, he held himself steady. “I believe him,” Natasha stated after a few moments. Before Steve could silently breathe a sigh of relief, she continued to say, “but only that perhaps another person was transported. Someone different that the rebels managed to get their hands on and convince them to fight for them. The Inhumans are really good at convincing people with their sob story of oppression.”

“Then we'll keep that in mind,” Madam Hydra stated, before lifting a hand to indicate to the security guards to stand down. As soon as the cascade of noise died, she said, “Leopold, we will need to accelerate the project. I would like a list of candidates you think who will be able to survive the process once the formula is complete, on my desk by tonight.”

“So we're attacking, ma'am?” Natasha asked, her tone business-like.

“Yes, we are,” the Director of HYDRA answered, replacing the grainy image of Bucky on the battlefield with that of a topography map of the eastern seaboard of the United States. “Once Project Rebirth has been initiated on the candidates and completed, we will use them as the vanguard and flush every Inhuman and Resistance member out. Because this undertaking is massive, I will be coordinating the offensive.”

She paused and glanced over towards Natasha and Barnes, stating, “Mobilize all strike teams, but do not recall those already in the field. Begin planting false intel and close the door on any sieve.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he heard Barnes state in a crisp tone.

“Gladly, ma'am,” Natasha answered. “If I may be considered a part of the candidates or with the vanguard when we do strike? I would like another rematch against the rebel Captain America when I see him on the field. New York City, if possible; where the world can see another incarnation defeated once again.”

“If possible,” Madam Hydra stated, nodding slightly. Steve frowned, withdrawing his hands from the table top.

“What? Did something I say bother you, Captain Rogers?” Natasha asked.

Steve wanted to say 'everything', but he managed to hold his tongue, though that did not stop him from clenching his jaw in anger at the clearly flippant, belittling tone she had used. “No,” he managed to grind out after a moment. “Just questioning the extent of this 'hunt' and your need to showcase it.”

“Careful, Tasha,” Barnes said, a hint of a challenging smile on his lips. “He's a super-soldier, so you might not want to piss him off. But it is understandable, since Inhumans don't exist in his reality.”

“How unfortunate,” Natasha answered with a smile on her face that was clearly mocking. “You wouldn't ever understand the pain and suffering that the people of this world had to have gone through during the Inhuman uprising, Captain. You would've never sympathized with them as it seems you do now.”

“No,” he answered, trying to keep himself as calm as possible. “I don't. But I question how much collateral damage you will be inflicting on civilians if you carry out this plan.”

“If you are concerned about the methodology and plan of action, Captain Rogers,” Madam Hydra interrupted them, drawing their attention to her as she folded her hands together and rested her arms on the table, “I will assign you to Agent Rogers' team. She and her team will be responsible in ensuring that no collateral damage is inflicted upon the population when this operation is carried out. Alternately, you may be of some help to Leopold here with his creation of the formula, since not too much data had been collected today during the battle. I know not how you were chosen, but perhaps you could advise Leopold on the best candidates to choose to receive the formula?”

“It will not only combine what I can synthesize from your blood, Captain,” the young man spoke up, “but also markers from what we could decode from Inhuman DNA to ensure that the vanguards stands the best chance of surviving an Inhuman attack, and contain any collateral damage that the Inhumans may inflict.”

There was a kindness in Madam Hydra's tone that clearly did not reach her eyes, nor was reflected in the way she sat – coiled like a true viper about to strike – as she asked, “Will either of those be satisfactory, Captain Rogers?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, knowing that with everything HYDRA did, he could not push his luck, nor give away the fact that he knew that they were not 'SHIELD'. “Thank you for addressing my concerns.”

* * *

“You got any happy memories swimming in there, sir?”

что?

He looked up and for a moment, almost didn't understand the question until he took a deep breath and refocused himself. Glancing at the digital clock mounted on the wall, he realized that he had been writing for quite some time now. Even though his thoughts and memories had played out in Russian, he saw that he had written pages and pages of English. It was disconcerting, but there was some comfort in the fact that he was piecing together memories much faster that were more complete.

The glass of water that had been sitting on the table before him hadn't been touched since he had sat down. Beyond that was Johnson's laptop, and a bottle of the same whisky that she had initially offered to him just hours after he had had the metal arm grafted to him. The bottle was already three-quarters done, though it looked like the glass that Johnson had been drinking out of was empty for the moment. How she managed to program things while drinking puzzled him, as he remembered Morita not even able to properly operate a radio after drinking quite a lot.

He shrugged, and glanced back down at the pages in the notebook. It had been a couple of hours since they had finally returned to Stark Tower, well after nightfall. Though it was nearing midnight, he didn't feel tired, hungry, or thirsty at all. He knew that he should have had, after what he had been through, but no such basic human necessities had crashed upon him. Still, Stark had made sure that he and Johnson ate, and drank something. He found it a little odd and somewhat uncomfortable that the AI was minding them as if he were a mother hen.

At the moment though, Stark was nowhere to be seen, having stated something about a debrief with the Resistance in their basement base. Johnson had returned to whatever she was coding for the exits, at least that's what he had presumed, and he had taken up his writing again, trying not to think too much or too deeply about what had happened today.

His thoughts and his attempt to return to sorting out his memories was interrupted by a repeated three-tone beep that didn't seem to be coming from Johnson's laptop. “Ack, shit!” he heard Johnson curse as she ran down the hall to most likely stop whatever it was that was beeping. A few moments later, instead of stopping the beeping noise, it became a little louder as he saw her return down the hall with a small oblong device in her hand. She hit something on the device that did stop the beeping but also projected a screen.

He closed the notebook and set it to the side as he saw Johnson approach his side of the table and set the device down. Rogers' counterpart's greeted both him and Johnson with a curt, “Agent Johnson, Sergeant Barnes.”

A second later, the feed on Rogers' counterpart's side was zoomed out to encompass Rogers as well. Both looked to be sitting in a modest-looking dining room, though both of them were no longer dressed in black-fatigues, but in civilian clothes. Neither looked as if they had been injured from the fight between HYDRA and the Resistance/SHIELD earlier, but then again, both of them had accelerated healing due to the serum that ran through their blood. Rogers's counterpart looked alert, but there was frustration in her eyes. On the other hand, Rogers looked as if he had been mentally beaten and worn down from the day, almost to the point of despair.

“Ma'am,” Johnson answered crisply. “Tony said he's on his way.”

As much as he wanted to ask either Rogers' counterpart or Johnson what this video conference was about, something strange caught his eye. “When the hell did you get married, Steve?” he asked, just as he heard the elevator doors in front of where he and Johnson were sitting, open.

Rogers had a confused look spread across his face until it seemed that he realized that he was wearing a ring on his finger. He saw his confusion turn into a sheepish, almost embarrassed look, complete with flushing slightly red before he took the ring off and twisted it ever so slightly. It was difficult to see, but he thought he could see a tiny needle along the surface of the ring, before Rogers twisted it again.

“Oh good, you didn't poke your eye out with the ring,” Stark interrupted whatever Rogers was about to say. He glanced up from the screen to see Johnson moving over slightly to allow Stark to at least lean forward slightly so that his face was also being projected into the video conference.

He resisted the urge to move far away, as Stark was definitely impinging on his personal space, but considering the assumed layers of encryption and size of the device, the camera could not be widened. Still, it was Rogers', “I scratched his hand with it, Tony,” that focused him back on the call.

“Yeah,” Stark answered, nodding, “saw the alert pop up. I'm going to let it work on the system for a little bit more, take a look around, get a better feel, yadda yadda, before I take control of it. So you might have to put up with the Doctor being an asshole for a little longer. The transition should start happening somewhere probably after lunch tomorrow. He can blame it on a bad burrito.”

He gave a slightly puzzled glance over to Johnson who shrugged before mouthing, 'Fitz'. It was all that he needed to tell him that whatever Stark had done via Rogers and that ring, Stark was attempting to change something significant within the Framework without Madam Hydra detecting it. He wasn't well versed in the more technological aspects of the modern age, but after what happened in Sokovia, he was slightly concerned. However, Stark was an AI, and he had thus proven capable of evading and deflecting attention from the more unwanted machinations of this world, as evident of his control and subtle misdirection of HYDRA during the enclave attack and retreat.

“So who'd you get 'married' to, Steve?” Johnson asked, grinning. “I can call you Steve, right? Because calling you Cap or Rogers, is a little confusing when both of you are Captain Rogers.”

“Sure,” he heard Rogers say, smiling slightly, as if his spirits were lifted a little since the beginning of the conference call. “And I didn't get 'married' to anyone, Agent Johnson. It's just a cover story.”

“Peggy Carter,” he said, half-wondering why he had stated that name, while ignoring the strange look that Johnson was giving him in the wake of Rogers' explanation.

“You remember her, Bucky?” Rogers asked, looking a little hopeful yet sad at the same time.

He frowned slightly as the fragment that accompanied the name surface for a moment before saying, “She ignored me?”

He didn't know why Rogers smiled, almost breaking out into laughter but managing to hold it back just so. It was enough though, to allow him to feel a sense of calm and reassurance that something in what he said had cheered him up. That in turn made him happy, a feeling that he hadn't felt in a long while. Something in him, memory or not, didn't want to see Rogers as withdrawn as he himself had been and still was, and he didn't know what to think of it.

“So did everyone make it out all right, Tony?” he heard Rogers' counterpart ask.

“Lost Delta team,” Stark answered. “But... Robin and her mother, and the Karthakyans have all been relocated. Robin was the one who woke up.”

“Robin?” he heard Rogers' counterpart ask, looking more than just worried. “How? We've gotten no alerts of _any_ HYDRA presence near there until today. There's absolutely no crystals there, even with the topo maps.”

“I don't know,” Stark stated.

The statement sounded normal, or as normal as one would say when there was clearly no data on hand otherwise, but he found it a little disconcerting that an AI who had vast knowledge of the virtual world they were stuck in, was saying that. It was apparent that he wasn't the only one who was giving Stark a concerned look. Stark wasn't following his statement up with anything reassuring, though after a few moments, it was Johnson who broke the silence, saying, “She did give Cap—sorry, Sergeant Barnes here a picture, though its stuff we already know about.”

Even before anyone asked for the picture, he leaned out of the range of the camera and reached for the notebook he had been writing in. Fishing out the color pencil and crayon drawing that had been sitting on top of the first page, he unfolded it and leaned back to display it before the other two over the video. Silence hung over the conference for a full minute before he saw Rogers' counterpart shake her head, unsure what to make of the drawing.

Yet, he still did not voice his opinion about it. Some gut feeling was telling him that he needed to investigate further, but considering where his own counterpart was, and the obvious distance, it seemed like an impossible task to accomplish. He didn't even know why he needed to hide his opinion from anyone else – none of the fragments or the memories he pieced together gave him any reason to withhold information, other than a feeling that saying something about his counterpart could possibly hurt Rogers' counterpart.

Something in him didn't want to do that – to hurt not only Rogers, but also Rogers' counterpart.

Putting away the drawing, it was Rogers' counterpart who audibly sighed before saying, “They're planning a major op, Tony. I don't know when its going to happen, but I've been tasked to coordinate and deploy defensive measures for civilians loyal to HYDRA. It sounds like a major play, major deployment of all forces within the Framework to flush every single Resistance member and Inhuman out. After today... after they saw 'Captain America' on the battlefield, that's their response. Why the hell did you do that, Tony?”

“Stark didn't deploy me,” he immediately stated before Stark could say a word.

It was not that he was defending the coordination that the AI had done in order to keep most of the Resistance members from being slaughtered in that enclave, but the fact that it was now clear to him that Wilson was Director of SHIELD in name only. Wilson had command and control over the Resistance members, but it was Stark utilizing his AI abilities or something to that nature to help what Johnson had termed, 'lines of 'rogue' code' along in making decisions. The Framework was not only a battleground for those who were knowingly stuck here, but also for two AIs. Stark and Madam Hydra manipulated the lines of code as if it were a chess match, and the rest of them – the aware ones – were seemingly at the mercy of them until they could get out.

“We were following up on the signal that Wilson asked you to monitor, ma'am,” Johnson supplied. “It led us to an abandoned Army base, and the signal's source was about 100 feet below ground. I think it's been leaking through from the real-world. HYDRA could possibly be building something at that location, but regardless, we were the closest to reach Robin and the others first.”

“Yes, but wearing Steve's uniform _and_ outfitting a vibranium shield...” Rogers's counterpart began before shaking her head. “Tony, please stop risking exposing yourself like this...”

“The shield saved his life,” Stark said, glancing over at him, as if silently indicating that he should answer in an affirmative to back up the claim.

He returned the look with a neutral one of his own, but didn't say a word, as Rogers interrupted, saying, “Wait. Abandoned Army base? Where was the signal coming from?”

“About 100 feet below some bunker that didn't have a basement, sir,” Johnson answered. “Camp Lehigh, New Jersey. Used to be a rather large training ground for Army recruits back in World War 2 before it got shuttered and moved to somewhere out in Minnesota.”

“Something significant from your reality, Rogers?” Stark asked.

He saw Rogers' eyebrows furrow for a few moments before hearing him say, “That's where Dr. Zola, or at least an extensive back up of him via data tapes was kept. He was one of the scientists that SHIELD recruited after the war through Operation Paperclip. I don't know his exact role in SHIELD, but he was the one who spearheaded the effort to revive and let HYDRA grow inside of SHIELD. That's also where a signal led Nat and I to, only for it to be a trap set by HYDRA. We almost got buried under three tons of concrete.”

“So it could be a signal trap, designed to lure those outside of the Framework,” he heard Rogers' counterpart state. “Or significant construction of some sort that has a powerful enough of a signal to even penetrate the Framework's firewalls.”

“Camp Lehigh was also where I was 'born', and where I trained prior to shipping out,” Rogers quietly stated, his frown getting deeper before he looked back up and looked over towards his counterpart. “You said that Dr. Fitz is trying to create super-soldiers or something to fight back against Inhumans, right? How exactly is he doing that? He told us today that he was combining my blood and markers from Inhumans, but there was a lot of information left to be desired.”

“No one knows,” Stark answered for Rogers' counterpart, crossing his arms over his chest. “At least not until I can use that virus to get into that noggin of his. The general theory is that he's trying to find the right combination of powers from the blood that he's extracted from known Inhumans to create a serum of sorts that surpasses even whatever cocktail the two...sorry, the three of you super-soldiers have running through your blood. He needs a baseline first, and then he'll just probably have the other eggheads test all sorts of combinations. That's the first part, and sounds a lot like what he told you. The second, assuming that the first may or may not work, since he's not a biologist, is that he's also probably building suits or exoskeletons to withstand whatever else Inhumans could possibly throw back at HYDRA's new weapon. But that's the theory.”

“So Madam Hydra could possibly be transmitting or somehow extracting data from what Fitz is creating here, and out into the real-world?” Johnson asked, though it sounded more rhetorical than an actual question. “But why Camp Lehigh? Hell, I'd put that place somewhere in the middle of Kansas if I could.”

“Vita Ray requires an enormous amount of electrical energy to power it,” he heard Rogers' counterpart softly answer in a worried tone. “Camp Lehigh would be the most ideal place, since it's close to several major cities' power grids along the mid-Atlantic and north-eastern seaboard.”

Silence fell among them for a minute before he heard her ask, “How long until Mockingbird and Monty finish with the waypoints?”

“Four more, ma'am,” Johnson answered. “I should be getting confirmation early tomorrow morning for two from them.”

“All right,” she said, nodding. “Tony, warn Sam and the others. I don't know when this op is going to launch, but I have a nasty hunch that it might happen before we can activate or finish marking the waypoints. We might just have to go with what we have. I'll see if I can set one up here.”

“Cognitive recalibration for both Fitz and Captain Barnes, Stevie?” he heard Stark ask.

“I don't know if it will work, but we can at least force both of them through an exit,” she answered.

“I'll see if I can wiggle loose Fitz's mind a little more then,” the AI stated.

She nodded before saying and gesturing to both him and Johnson, “Stay out of trouble, you two.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Johnson answered, half-smiling. The conference call ended a few moments later, and Johnson pocketed the device. Stark had stepped away, seemingly lost in thought with a hand half-cupping his chin. “What's up, Tony?” Johnson asked, spinning around slightly in her seat to watch Stark pace back and forth.

“Possibilities,” was all the answer that was given.

“Okay,” Johnson said, dragging out the word while shrugging slightly as she rose up and returned to her side of the table. Instead of sitting back down, she swiped her laptop up into her hands and made her way down the hall. “I'm hitting the sack. See you guys in the morning.”

“Don't say it,” he immediately stated to Stark who had turned his attention to him after Johnson's declaration.

“I wasn't going to mother you to go to sleep, Barnes,” Stark said, sounding slightly defensive. “I just wanted to apologize for foisting the shield on you today.”

принести извинения?

He blinked in surprise, but after a moment, said, “It did save my life, Stark.”

“Good...good,” he heard him murmur, before seeing him turn and walk away. As odd as it was, he supposed that he still held onto some lingering assumptions from his reality's Tony Stark, and he needed to try to put that away for now.

“Stark,” he called out, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible. The behavior that Stark was currently displaying was a little odder than what he thought even an AI version of Stark would show. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” the AI answered, shaking his head slightly before stopping and turning slightly back towards him. “It's just... this is the first time that I think I made the wrong call.”

я сожалею...

“We all make mistakes,” the unbidden words tumbled out of his lips. The accompanying fragment that made him say those words made it seem like he had been talking to himself in a mirror.

A faint, sardonic smile spread across the AI's lips before he said, “I'm not supposed to Barnes. I'm an AI. I'm supposed to make the right decisions that won't get so many people killed.”

~~~

“How much of what Madam Hydra said on the quinjet was true, Stevie?” Steve quietly asked as looked up from staring at the dining table after the transmission between them and those at Stark Tower ended.

He saw her pause in putting away a couple of dried glass from the kitchen counter top. “It sounded true, didn't it?” she asked, placing the glass back down and approaching, taking a seat opposite of him.

“Yes,” he answered.

“That.. is one of the truths that HYDRA can lay claim to,” she said after a moment. “But it happened in South America, not here. An entire cell of SHIELD agents went rogue and caused it to happen. In doing so, they caused public opinion to completely turn away from SHIELD.”

Steve looked down frowning as he found it more difficult with each passing minute and hour to remain here, so close to HYDRA, yet so far from what familiar to him. Stevie had told him that she was one of the few who had permission to be allowed to live in off-base housing, but she did not specify as to the reason why. It had afforded them the necessary privacy to establish the video conference link with Stark Tower and brief them on the situation though.

“You're thinking about her, aren't you?” her sudden question caused him to look back up as he realized he was absently twisting the ring on his finger. “Peggy Carter?”

He remained silent, but removed the ring from his finger and set it on the table. “Is she alive in this reality?” he asked after a few moments.

“She is,” she answered, nodding, smiling for a brief moment. “She's head of the Intelligence Directorate in SHIELD, and a founder. She's the one who inspired me to join SHIELD as a military intelligence officer liaison after I graduated from the Air Force Academy.”

“She was one of the founders of SHIELD in my reality,” he said, the edges of his lips quirking up in a faint smile. “I guess we were both inspired by her.”

“But you loved her more than she inspired, didn't you?” Stevie asked after a moment.

“We... fought together in World War Two,” he admitted. “She was the one providing the analysis, data, and briefing. I was the one who carried out the operations with the Howling Commandos.” He laughed a little as the memories surfaced, saying, “Before the serum, I really didn't know how to talk to her – she was gorgeous, poised, and so confident. After the serum, I still didn't know how to talk to her. But yeah...I did love her. I visited her as much as I could at the hospice, even when she was having a bad day.”

“Steve,” he heard his counterpart begin, and felt her place her hand over his own as he looked up, blinking the sudden tears away. “I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for your loss.”

He took a deep breath, nodding his thanks before saying, “I look at this... this world, and I know it's not real, but I look at it, and I wonder if that would have been what could have happened to my reality. If I didn't destroy what she built her life, after my 'death', on.”

“You are in the here and now, Steve,” she said. “This is not your world. You and Bucky... the two of you have a world to go back to where HYDRA does not exist. SHIELD lived up to its name sake, protecting the world from HYDRA as their final act. Don't linger on regrets and loss, look to what you have now and embrace it for the future.”

“What about you?” he asked after a moment.

She withdrew her hand and folded it back with her other one, giving him a bitter smile. “I sound like a hypocrite don't I?” He didn't answer that and continued to watch her as she twisted the band on her finger in a similarly anxious manner. “Tony... AI Tony's kept asking me to stop seeking revenge for his real-world counterpart's death, but I just can't let it go. Black Widow killed him... and now, she's got Bucky in her web—she's taken everyone...”

Far from it that she was going to break down, Steve saw her lips thin in anger as she curled her hands into fists for a moment before opening them again. “She took both of the men I loved,” he heard her say as she looked up, her green-blue eyes chipped and flinty. “She may have killed Tony, but while there's still breath in me, I'm going to do whatever it takes to get Bucky, my Bucky back.”

For a moment, Steve was about to repeat what Tony had said about letting the tools created by organizations rest, but it didn't feel right. Something about her words stirred something within him, and when he looked down at the ring on the table, he realized what her words truly meant. HYDRA had taken their loved ones from them – time and the Red Skull's bomber took him from Peggy, then they had taken and brainwashed Bucky. Steve had fought them to reach out to Bucky, to bring him home – to prove that HYDRA did not have the last word or action.

“While we still draw breath, we will do whatever we need to, to make sure our loved ones are saved,” Steve stated, agreeing.

* * *

He snapped his eyes open, not because he had been gripped in a nightmare, but because he could hear the soft clack of fingers on the keyboard. Even though there were thick walls and a long hall between him and the common area, the sounds of someone typing away were almost always enough to cause him discomfort and wake up. He didn't know why, but he could only guess that something in his Winter Soldier fragments was adverse to keyboard typing while sleeping.

Rolling up off the floor, his internal clock told him that he had slept for less than three hours, and that it was just quarter past four in the morning. Brushing himself off, he replaced the bed sheet he had been using as a thin blanket and exited the room. Making his way down the darkened hall, he emerged back into the main common room to find Johnson at the table, making a strange face at her laptop's screen.

“Coffee's at the kitchenette, sir,” she absently stated, pointing to the general area behind her before focusing back on the screen.

He glanced over towards where the machine and pot were, but did not head towards it. Instead he asked, “Есть пробл--” He stopped, paused and started again, saying, “What happened?”

If she had any reaction to his slip of the tongue, she didn't show it and instead, curled her untied hair around her left ear before pointing to something on the laptop, saying, “Mockingbird and Monty haven't checked in. They were supposed to report at 0400 and they're usually not late.”

Peering slightly over her left shoulder he saw that she was pointing to a marker that was a red triangle as she continued to say, “That's a partially built waypoint. It's supposed to be circular and green when it's complete, but I've been staring at it for the past five minutes, and it hasn't changed at all.”

“ETC?” he asked.

“Usually less than ten minutes, using Tony's algorithm, sir,” she answered. “Exposure and change to the base code within the Framework has to be small enough to miss detection.”

He glanced over at the tiny clock on the upper right hand corner of her screen – it read 0420. Considering the unusual discipline that Johnson displayed for a somewhat new field operative, and the assumptions he had had about hackers and their mannerisms, he knew that she was unusual. She adhered to precise times, and executed whatever computational tasks were given to her with as much accuracy and precision as a veteran field operative. The times were precise, and her fellow team members were late.

“Let's go find them,” he said, seeing that there was nothing else they could do here.

“Tony,” she said, pressing her right hand against her ear, “Mockingbird and Monty are late. You got a subtle car that we can take?” There was a pause before she said, “Mockingbird's marker is way out of the ways, Tony. It's no where near any HYDRA outpost, so we'll check on that first. Just keep monitoring and let us know of any changes.”

He saw her nod once before tapping her ear again and then snapped the lid of her laptop shut. He was already headed to the elevators as she pushed back her seat and scrambled to join him. Hitting the button that would take them to the garage, the door closed and they were swiftly whisked down. The doors opened to the vast garage that contained Stark's virtual collection of vehicles, but instead of heading towards whatever vehicle Stark had told them to take, he saw Johnson peel off to the right, headed to a small alcove.

She placed her palm on an ordinary-looking concrete wall, and a few moments later, the wall slid open, revealing a small armory. He followed her in and plucked the necessary equipment he needed – kevlar vest, rifle, sniper rifle, and several cartridges for both weapons. Slinging both across his shoulders, he then moved to where he saw a small array of combat knives stored. Plucking all five of them from their nests, he sheathed them in the areas where he knew that they would be the most efficient for any type of draw.

“Okay,” he heard Johnson draw out the word, and turned slightly to see her with perplexed expression on her face. “Walking, talking armory it is.” She was only carrying two pistols and a handful of cartridges pocketed within the kevlar vest she was wearing. “Guess I'm driving then, sir?”

“You know where the marker is,” he answered, following her out of the tiny armory and back into the garage.

As they made their way down the rows of cars, ranging from expensive, to rare, and to even more expensive and rare, he had to shake his head at what he was seeing. Not one car that they had passed thus far was 'subtle' or good for blending in. Every single car screamed wealth, affluence, or strange style – even the 'holy moly, Tony owns a Volkswagen Golf Harlequin' comment from Johnson was one. Just as he thought that Stark was lying about the fact that there was a 'subtle' car available for them to take, he finally spotted one that was indeed, subtle... or as subtle as Stark could get.

It was a stripped down version of a military jeep, with only the bare basics of a frame and hard-backed seats in the front. The rear was an open bed, and there wasn't even the usual spare tyre on it. Hard-knobbed tyres indicated that perhaps it was used for off-roading, but he wasn't sure that it was used in that manner. It was quite clean-looking on both the outside and inside, and he couldn't help but wonder what exactly did Stark use this type of vehicle for, considering that there was not a speck of dirt on it. As Johnson climbed into the drivers side, he climbed up and seated himself on the passenger side. Slinging his sniper rifle off, he leaned it against the metal dashboard, sliding it down so that the muzzle would not be visible, before adjusting the rifle so that it was sitting ready.

Johnson started the jeep and pulled out of the garage, easing into the fairly empty streets of downtown New York at this ungodly hour. They made their way out of the city and into the suburbs in short order, and that was when he became a little more alert of their surroundings. Thus far, there had been no eyes following them, and his instincts were not screaming at him. As the first rays of dawn started to rise, they were headed well away from the city and its suburbs and into the farmlands.

They drove for a couple of hours, in which by that time, the sun had risen, spilling its golden rays across the fields. There was still nothing out of the ordinary, but he did not relax his guard. It was only when Johnson started to slow down before maneuvering the vehicle onto an off beaten path that had clearly been used by a tractor several days ago, prior to their entering, that he adjusted his grip on his rifle and brought it up.

Looking carefully around as Johnson slowed the jeep to a crawl and cautiously approached their destination, he couldn't hear any sounds other than morning birds or the far off bray of a sheep. As soon as she halted and shut off the engine, the silence that surrounded them was quite palpable. He looked up towards the small cluster of trees a few hundred meters away from them, but could not see anyone hiding within the thick bed of branches. Seeing that nothing was attacking them at the moment, he cautiously got out of the jeep, keeping a one handed grip on the rifle, finger over the trigger while he reached out and grabbed his sniper rifle. Slinging that over his shoulder and pushing it so that it rested across his back, he saw Johnson withdraw her handgun and point it in front of her.

She started off towards the trees and he joined her. Together, they took slow, even steps towards the treeline, pausing every so often to sweep the area. Inside the woods was no less a chore to get through, as they maneuvered around fallen branches, bushes that snagged at their clothes, and the breeze that sent rustling sounds everywhere. Yet, neither were attacked or sensed any immediate danger around them when they finally arrived at the spot where the waypoint marker was supposed to be planted.

There was nothing to indicate that someone had been here, other than two indented boot prints on the damp ground in the center of the clearing that did not look fresh.

Still, he did not lower his rifle and only took a quick glance at Johnson as she knelt beside a small, rectangular box that looked as if it had been open and left out against the elements. There was something still blinking within the box, and as she slung her laptop carrier off her shoulder, he took a couple of steps away from her. “It's been damaged,” she declared, brushing some damp dirt out of the box. “I don't know how long this will take, sir,” she stated, plugging the laptop into the box.

“I'll establish a perimeter,” he stated, as she frowned at her screen and began to type a few things.

Keeping his breathing as even as possible and footsteps quiet, he melted back into the woods. Sweeping to his left and right and to the leafy tree tops, he paused every so often, listening carefully. All he could hear now was the faint chirp of birds out in the open, and the almost indiscernible clack of Johnson's fingers on the keyboard. He moved forward, spinning around to walk backwards at times, as he established a baseline radius around the clearing before slowly expanding it. It was only when he reached the other side of the small forest that he paused and looked out towards the expanse that was before him.

He gripped the rifle a little tighter as he swept it and his entire body in careful turns, stepping ever so slowly across the grass and dirt that laid at the edge of this field. It was all farmland out here, with little to no trees in sight except for the ones he had emerged from. In the distance was a tiny speck of a farmhouse and its grain silo, but the wheat field that surrounded the area was not tall enough to hide someone going through it. Still, as he slowly retreated back into the forest, his sense of danger suddenly spiked. Whipping around, he pointed his rifle straight at the danger that had silently emerged out of the forest – opposite from the direction that he had left Johnson at.

His eyes widened ever so slightly of their own accord, and for a split second, his finger lifted off the trigger--

“James Buchanan Barnes, I presume?” his counterpart asked, pointing a revolver at him, smiling ever so slightly, as if he were grimacing.

“...да,” he answered, his finger hovering over the trigger again, ready to fire the moment his counterpart fired.

“Barnes. James Barnes,” his counterpart unexpectedly stated, before doing an equally unexpected, and very surprising thing. He saw him _lower_ his revolver, holstering it. “Commander of SHIELD Strike Team Bravo.”

Bucky saw him draw his left hand out from behind him, holding a long, thin and transparent periwinkle-blue crystal in his fingers, saying, “I'm looking for Quake.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wanting more Framework!Fitz, the next chapter after the memory chapter should feature him in a major capacity. Cheers!
> 
> Neat trivia: the Volkswagen Golf Harlequin is an actual car.


	6. Memory: семнадцать

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**семнадцать** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Dawn, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

Daybreak had arrived.

_Shit!_

It was the worst thing that could happen, and as soon as that first ray of light hit the thick fog, burning it away, Bucky was already peering back down through his scope. Steve was still down there, still quietly taking out the HYDRA soldiers with the faint _thonk_ of his shield, still causing confusion among the nest of HYDRA soldiers down below, but Bucky could not be choosy about his targets. Steve would be overwhelmed the minute the fog completely burned away – Bucky knew that he had to act _now_.

_Two targets, standing side-by-side at the main entrance._

_Line up—finger on pulse—heartbeat—fire—fire._

_Swing to the left—target running—tracking—heartbeat—fire._

_Ten-o-clock from Steve—two feet—targets—finger on pulse—fire—fire—fire._

_Shield trajectory—six-o-clock from Steve—target has flamethrower pack—line up—fire._

Bucky peered up for just a quick moment to see the cloud of smoke puff up from the remnants of the HYDRA soldier who had formerly carried a flamethrower pack. The edge of his lips quirked up ever so briefly in a satisfied smile before he returned his attention to the task at hand.

_Fog has been completely burnt away._

_Fire—fire—cannot waste time on head shots._

_Center of mass—fire—fire—do not let them surround Steve._

_Three and six—fire—fire—fire—fire._

_Not today, you bastards—fire—fire—fire._

_One bullet left in current custom cartridge of bullets._

_No more targets._

Despite his mental confirmation upon looking up from his scope, Bucky returned his gaze back into the scope and did a second sweep throughout the area while ejecting the spent cartridge and reloading it with a new one. Every single HYDRA soldier was either lying face down on the ground, or blown to pieces from the flamethrower explosion. He focused his scope back on Steve and frowned as he saw him look around with a bewildered expression on his face. He was quite sure that Steve had not been hit once in the head during the attack, so why was his best friend looking so confused?

An even larger explosion on the other side of the gully that the HYDRA base was situated at signaled that the others among the Howling Commandos had been successful in their task. So much for being the distraction that the others needed, at least the primary mission was completed. It had been music to Bucky's ears to listen to Steve throw his shield at the unsuspecting HYDRA soldiers guarding the front of the base. Between that and the fog, his night-vision enabled scope had afforded him a little insight as to how the soldiers had reacted to Steve being as wraith-like as possible in the fog. It had been like watching ants panic when water flooded their nests.

Peering through the scope again, Bucky saw Steve signal to fall back and lifted his eyes from the scope. Rolling over and up, he brushed the brambles and pine needles off of him and slung his sniper rifle across his back, while pulling his regular rifle back out and into the forefront. Grabbing the spent cartridge with the single bullet left, he shoved that into a waist belt compartment. Even with no more HYDRA presence here, he wasn't about to leave some Howard Stark custom-made technology out in the open.

Jogging down from where he had been perched, he met Steve on the brush-covered path they had taken in, sliding down the steep hill and landing on the ground. “That was amazing!” Steve exclaimed, as Bucky saw him run up to him with a wide smile and eyes lit up in a giddy manner.

“Huh?” he began, sorely confused before it hit him that maybe Steve was talking about the snipes that he had done. “Someone's gotta watch your back, Steve,” he said, grinning as he slung an arm around his best friend and pulled him closer. “For all of those enhancements that the serum's done, you still sometimes don't pay attention to what's around you, do you?”

“Pot calling kettle,” Steve answered, looping his arm around in the same manner, before thumping him on the chest with his free hand. “But seriously, _that_ was amazing. I've never seen anyone, snipe so fast! Seventeen HYDRA soldiers in less than the time it took me to down five of them with my shield. And that one with the flame thrower pack—wow.”

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle as he said, “Are you seriously going to keep gushing like one of those star-struck letter writers that you let me read a few days ago?”

Steve laughed, shaking his head slightly. “No, no, but come on Buck, with those skills, you really should teach some of the boys back home. Give them a better fighting chance out here.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, stopping as all of the good humor left him, causing Steve to stop walking as well. He didn't remove his arm from around Steve's shoulders, but he did make him face him, as he said, “You know that I'm not leaving unless you're leaving. The boys back home have good instructors; they know what they need to teach them, to give them the best chance to survive out here. I don't care if I have the 'points' to leave, I'm not going to – not until this is all done. Not until we go home – together.”

“I know,” Steve answered. There was a solemn look in his eyes, as he said after a moment. “Until the end of the line, right?”

“You're damn right,” he agreed, a crooked grin winding its way up his lips. Turning Steve back around, he started to walk again, half-pushing him along, saying, “Come on, lets see how much Jones and the others destroyed on the other side.”

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**семнадцать** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	7. рассвет (Daybreak)

 

**Chapter 4: рассвет (Daybreak)**

 

“The structure is remarkable, wouldn't you say so, Captain Rogers?”

Steve stood with his hands folded behind his back, a little looser than parade rest, watching the young engineer-scientist thump the silver-and-red star vibranium shield with his knuckles. Before he could answer the question, Dr. Fitz continued, saying, “So light, yet so dense that it can stop bullets.” The young man looked up, a shrewd look in his eyes as he directly asked, “From what I gathered yesterday, you seemed to be incredibly comfortable wielding it. What happened to your shield, Captain? Why did you not appear without it?”

Morning had come a little too soon in Steve's opinion, as both he and his counterpart had been ordered to report quite early to the Triskelion. While Stevie was somewhere within the building beginning to coordinate the evacuation or defense of civilians, he had been summoned to Dr. Fitz's laboratories. He had also been ordered to bring the silver-and-red star shield with him; something that puzzled him until the young man had taken it from him and set it on a table. Since his arrival, he had been standing as unobtrusively in this area of the lab as possible, watching the engineer-scientist go about his work.

“As I said before, Doctor,” he began, watching him turn away to bring up several bits and pieces of data, along with what looked like several DNA strands on a hard light projector, “I wasn't serving in SHIELD when I was transported. It belonged to them.”

“Lost in the battle then,” he heard the young man murmur as his eyes looked whichever way over the projection before he dragged a few strands of DNA from one side to another, combining them. “What did it feel like, to be transformed? Were you told to drink something, was something injected into you, or were you exposed to whatever made you a super-soldier?”

He frowned, feeling uncomfortable with the question, not just because he knew that HYDRA was listening in, most likely having the lab bugged, but also because of how invasive it was. “Injected,” he said after a moment, knowing that it was going to be difficult for him to spin a half-truth about what had happened to him. “It felt like fire was coursing through my blood, under my skin, and in my bones.”

The only answer he received was a 'hmm' from the young man that sounded almost dismissive before he heard him say, “If you would please, Captain, take a look at the profiles there and let me know which are the top five candidates.”

Seeing that there was really nothing else to do, other than completely disobey the Doctor's orders put his and possibly Stevie's covers in jeopardy, he walked over to the table that contained ten manila folders. On the top of the stack was one labeled 'Natalia Alianovna Romanova'. Picking that one up, he looked over to see the doctor still putting several DNA strands against each other and asked, “Does that include evaluating Agent Romanov?”

“Yes,” the young man absently stated. “Ophelia may have reassured her that she was guaranteed a spot as one of the first, but this is _my_ program.”

Steve silently shook his head ever so slightly, hearing the slight possessiveness and annoyance in the young man's tone. He'd never thought he'd actually hear something close to a semblance of ethics from a HYDRA agent, even one trapped at the moment. He wasn't sure how much personality or subconscious actions the HYDRA brainwashing program in this Framework retained when trying to turn people into unwilling agents. Considering what he had seen in Barnes' actions, especially the rather scandalous – in his opinion – way he had interacted with Natasha while walking to the briefing, he thought that at least something of the old self remained. If the actual Bucky of this reality was anything like his Bucky, he remembered that Bucky shamelessly and openly flirted a lot.

Perhaps this sort of ethics or at least a ghost of it manifesting with his questioning of Natasha's fitness to undergo this super-soldier variant, was an indicator that Agent Fitz was not entirely lost to HYDRA. Perhaps the young man was still fighting whatever HYDRA was doing to him--

“Bingo,” Dr. Fitz's soft exclamation knocked all thoughts of possibilities out of his mind as he saw a rather unkind smile spread across his face.

Reading backwards across the hard light projections, he frowned as he saw that the extracted areas of his DNA had been enhanced and combined with two Inhuman abilities that were labeled: flight and unbreakable skin. There was a percentage on the side though, that was labeled: probability of death from serum. The number was high – really high, and it worried him. The combination worked, but even if he chose all ten to go through the procedure, the chances of success was less than a percent. However, as he caught the young man's glance over at him, he returned his attention to the folders.

Setting aside Natasha's file for the moment, he picked up another and opened it, just as he took a quick glance up to see Dr. Fitz continuing to combine various aspects of his DNA and other Inhuman abilities. The variants were great, but it seemed that the doctor was concentrating on creating as powerful of a soldier as possible with little to no care for the side effects. He glanced back down at the brief dossier on this particular candidate before setting that folder to the side as well.

“You don't seem to be happy with the candidates, Captain Rogers,” he heard him ask after he had placed all the folders, briefly going through the dossiers, to the side. He looked up to see that the combination sequence of DNAs had now been automated, and that the young man was moving towards the vibranium shield. He saw him pick it up and move it to a stand, setting it there.

“They are the top ten operatives we have, Captain,” Dr. Fitz continued, dusting his hands before moving towards an apparatus and began to type on an actual keyboard.

“Really?” he asked, unable to keep the tinge of sarcasm out of his tone. “I was under the impression that Natasha Romanov and James Barnes were the only top operatives. Both of them certainly did quite the number of damage on the rebels yesterday.”

The Doctor snorted derisively before hitting a key on the keyboard. A much too familiar whine started up, and to Steve's horror, what he thought was just a dead and useless robotic arm lying in a heap near the window, spooled up. It turned, coalescing into a barrel that enveloped a glowing blue core, and fired three bolts at the vibranium shield. All the shots were absorbed, as it should have happened – as it did in his memories. The whine died down after that test, but Steve knew that his eyes were not deceiving him: this reality's HYDRA had developed tesseract-based weapons.

“Ah, I suppose that it was a good try,” he heard the young man say, seeing him walk over to the inactive weapon and examine it for a moment. “Still needs improvement if we are to finally penetrate Wakanda's defenses and relieve them of their monopoly of vibranium from their greedy, selfish hands.”

“Wakanda?” he questioned, frowning slightly.

“There is no country called Wakanda in your reality?” the young man asked, looking up and almost genuinely puzzled.

“There is,” he carefully answered. “But they're a third-world country. Their king, T'Chaka, recently died.”

“Third-world country,” Dr. Fitz repeated, giving him a look that felt like a cross between derisive and disbelief. “When you return to your reality, Captain Rogers, I do beg you to go revisit that fact. Your shield in your reality most likely came from Wakanda – more specifically, from the metal that they have a monopoly on, vibranium. It's extremely rare, but it can be used for many purposes. That 'third-world' country has kept their borders closed to the masses, hoarding the metal, and building an army to conquer the world when its protectors finally become complacent. SHIELD fell in your world, so you must see to it that you protect the Earth from the Wakandans and their advanced technology.”

“Is that where that--” he gestured with a jerk of his chin “--came from?”

“This?” the young man said, taking a step away from the tesseract-based weapon. “This was a result from a gift left by the gods, and left in our care by the Red Skull. It is not yet perfected, as you can see by the fact that it was not able to vaporize or penetrate the vibranium shield.” He paused for a moment before clapping his hands together and walked towards him, saying, “But, as enthused as I am to see that you are interested in the technology that has been developed thus far, we must focus on the current crisis.”

The Doctor approached and stopped by the table, picking up one of the folders and flipped through the packet before setting it back down. “Do none meet the criteria chosen, or are you disappointed that your apparent favoritism towards Agent Barnes did not lend any influence in his dossier being on this table?” He paused for a moment and Steve did not like the look that he was pinning him with his eyes, as he said, “It is clear that you dislike Agent Romanov.”

“Dislike is a little strong,” he answered, holding his ground. “I just question her... warmongering tendencies and apparent lack of empathy for civilians.”

“And yet it was clear yesterday, from what I heard over the coms, that you know her in your world,” Dr. Fitz stated. “Diminutives of names are not usually used unless there is a close inter-personal relationship with said person. I can only speculate that you refuse to consider Agent Romanov either because you had been or still are close to her in your reality. However, I don't believe that that is the whole truth. Given your apparent dislike of her, your similar personality to your counterpart, and combined with the obvious inter-personal relationship between Agent Romanov and you in your reality, I would have to hypothesize that perhaps she was either a former lover of yours or romantic rival.”

As much as Steve wanted to lash out like he had yesterday and pick up the young man by the lapels of his suit, he restrained himself from even moving forward. The insinuations and assumption of his relationship to Natasha in his reality was hitting a little too close to home – especially on the perception that he knew that Natasha had employed during their run from HYDRA. As close friend, he agreed with and was glad that Natasha reciprocated the friendship. However, anything more than that, was something he knew that she knew that he would have never been comfortable with.

If he was to be stuck here for a while, he knew that he needed to protect himself from this reality's Natasha Romanov. She was a literal incarnation of her call sign here, and from Stevie's confession last night after the conference with those in Stark Tower, he suspected that that was how this reality's Bucky had been ensnared and kept under. Anything Steve said, gave away on his face, or even took action in the next few moments would be scrutinized by the Doctor and whomever was probably watching through planted cameras.

Instead, he gave him a mirthless smile, saying, “We had a fight.”

“She must have been a super-soldier in your reality, if she was able to injure you so, as Agent Rogers told us,” the young man said, flipping open Natasha's file, before reaching over to pluck a pen from its holder on the desk and scribbling 'verified' on the first page. “Thank you for confirming my theory, Captain. We need more soldiers with the discipline and mentality like her to combat these Inhumans.”

He didn't answer or attempt to correct the assumption, as he saw the Doctor return to the automated algorithm that combined various DNAs and look at it for a moment. The screen was then split and a more mechanical, unfamiliar schematic was brought up. It was cylindrical and hollow on both ends that seemed to be held together through a single, robust stem along one side of each cylinder end. He watched him move a few subsystems of the schematic around, before seeing him turn back around, asking, “What are your opinion on the others?”

Steve mentally sighed, wondering if there was a chance that even with the twisted ethics that seemed to be driving the young man to complete this monstrous project, that he could at least try to delay it. He knew that there was no delaying the all-out attack on the Resistance and the Inhumans, but perhaps he could delay the HYDRA version of Project Rebirth.

“They're all good on paper, Dr. Fitz,” he stated. “But in my reality, the selectors interviewed each candidate before hand. It was not just a numbers game, it was to ensure that the all-around best candidates were chosen.”

“Interview?” he heard him snort in derision. “Might I remind you _Captain_ , that this is not a committee meeting, or whatever the hell your SHIELD did in your world when faced with imminent destruction. We are fighting a war, and a decision must be made now!”

“Then why these ten?” he said, trying to keep himself as calm as possible. “Their traits will be augmented, yes, and they will be more powerful, but why them? They're already leaders according to your dossiers. This war that you fight against the Inhumans – you'll need leaders to keep your men together. You give them this serum, and you risk killing ten of your best. Why not give them to others within your ranks?”

“That is the first phase of Project Rebirth,” Dr. Fitz said, clasping his hands in front of him, as if he were about to lecture a classroom full of idiots; judging by the condescension dripping from his tone. “You wondered why Agent Barnes was not listed among the ten? It is because when he returns from whatever errand Ophelia has sent him on this morning, he will be the first one to undergo augmentation. He and a few others will ensure that the final formula given to Agent Romanov and the other final candidates is perfect.”

“What?!” Steve whispered in disbelief and horror, staring at him.

“Lost lover then.”

He barely paid attention to what the Doctor had said as he continued to stare incredulously at him before flicking his eyes up to the rapidly flashing combinations and their statistical display of death probability. The numbers were still too high, still too risky, and that was only even with one additional augmentation combined with the baseline super-soldier DNA. The procedure was going to fail, even with the numerous combinations from whatever algorithm the engineer-scientist was running through. He could not put Stevie through the emotional hell that had torn through him when he had found the condition Bucky had been in, at Azzano.

It was only when Dr. Fitz addressed him, saying, “Captain Rogers,” that brought him back out of the nightmarish fugue he had briefly fallen in.

“What,” he flatly answered, narrowing his eyes at him, briefly berating himself for the fact that he shouldn't have doubted that HYDRA's control over their prisoners was absolute. There was absolutely no ethics within the young man, not at this very moment. It was almost exactly like talking with Dr. Zola, and it made his blood boil.

“Choose the five candidates other than Agent Romanov, Captain. Not only are you here to give your assessment to me about their fitness for augmentation, but Ophelia has requested that you are to make sure that the formula is successful. You can start that by ensuring that whatever initial ones Agent Barnes is augmented with, will guarantee his survival.”

“I'm not a biologist, Dr. Fitz,” he stated, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at him.

“No, you're not,” he answered. “But I'm in agreement with Ophelia that the need to protect those those we love and care about is a great motivating factor. Your favoritism and concern for Agent Barnes in this reality is a reflection of that, as is the loss you suffered, as indicated in your interview yesterday. Think of this as a second chance – a chance to make things right.”

Steve saw him pause and unclasp his hands, before tapping something on the corner of the hard-light projection to bring up a map. All he saw on it were forty-two tiny green circles, scattered throughout the north eastern and mid-Atlantic regions. Two markers, indicating Barnes and Natasha were seen overlaid on two of the forty-two green dots.

“You have until Agent Barnes returns from his mission, to help me complete and refine the formula, Captain,” Dr. Fitz stated, giving him an expectant look. “I do hope that you are a quick study.”

* * *

“I'm looking for Quake.”

Bucky remained silent and unmoving, holding his rifle steady, pointed straight at his counterpart's heart. A part of him wanted to believe, wanted to revel in the fact that the actions that his counterpart had taken proved that he wasn't a HYDRA agent. The other part of him, the one that surprisingly conjured up fragments from his time serving in the Howling Commandos, cautioned against such an action. Who knew what HYDRA knew about his counterpart, about SHIELD Strike Team Bravo, about the call signs that the team apparently had. He was deep behind enemy lines, within the heart of the enemy's fortress, and everything could not be trusted.

He wanted to believe, yet he didn't want to believe. It had been the Winter Soldier side of him, having taken over most of his instincts during that enclave battle, that had not denied the mirror looking back at him when they had first encountered each other. The Winter Soldier, the one who had dominated nearly his entire existence after he had been dragged from that river in the Alps – the ever vigilant killer within him, _had not_ killed this man standing in front of him.

“Revolver,” he gruffly stated.

He watched as his counterpart slowly lifted the weapon out of its holster before cautiously setting it on the ground, standing back up, and kicking it away.

“Crystal,” he stated.

“No,” his counterpart answered, shaking his head slightly. “I drop this, or you drop this, we both die in this simulation and in the real-world. This is a terragen crystal. It's deadly to non-Inhumans.”

“Arms out then,” he answered, hearing the absolute conviction in his tone. Surprisingly, neither warring side of his instincts were disagreeing with each other on the statement about the crystal. He had to assume then, that his counterpart was telling the truth.

His counterpart held out his arms, parallel to each other, and Bucky stepped around, pointing the tip of his rifle all around him, occasionally letting it brush against or poke his counterpart in a few suspicious places. He was not an idiot to completely step in an put himself in a vulnerable position by doing a pat-down on his counterpart, at least not when he was alone. Neither was he going to bring him to Johnson, even though his counterpart's words sounded lucid and not compromised.

Bucky stepped back to face him, the tip of his rifle once again pointed at his counterpart's chest, nodding for him to put his arms down. “Verdict?” his counterpart asked, smirking slightly.

He glanced at the innocuous-looking crystal before he remembered something about the crystals being mentioned by Wilson and the others when they had first arrived. If true, it would solve the immediate mystery as to what had happened, and potentially why his counterpart was here and apparently breaking cover. It would also certainly explain the confusing crayon drawing that had been given to him. “You woke Robin?” he asked instead.

His counterpart snorted, looking down at the ground for a brief moment before looking back up. “It's a little weird, talking to you, knowing and not knowing if you have the same kind of thoughts as I do.” He saw him adjust his grip on the crystal ever so slightly before continuing to say, “Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because she knows where the heart of the Framework is; how to destroy it.”

He stared at him for a full second, but there was no nervousness in his counterpart's tone, no hint of any sort of uncertainty. Absolute conviction colored his counterpart's tone, and even though he hated the fragments from the Winter Soldier, he let it briefly fill him at the moment. “Mission report--” he began.

The crunch of approaching footsteps on the ground, tromping through the woods, cut off his demand for the objective of what Strike Team Bravo's mission was. Johnson had finished whatever she needed to do, and rather than wait, she had decided to go look for him. SA-wise, he couldn't fault her in going to look for him, but he wished that she was not announcing her presence in such a noisy manner. “Quake, hold position,” he stated out loud, keeping his eyes on his counterpart, and the tip of his rifle still pointed at his chest.

“Sir?” he heard her question as the sounds of her approach stopped. That was followed shortly with the audible withdrawing of her pistol from its holster. Then, to his rather annoyed consternation, she continued forward, until he could clearly hear her emerge from the woods behind him. “Holy shit--” she began.

“I thought I taught you to be better than that, Daisy--” his counterpart began, before his words were cut off with the single shot that emerged from Johnson's gun.

Bucky didn't even flinch as the bullet passed close to him, with its trajectory headed straight towards his counterpart. Instead of directly hitting his counterpart though, the shot merely scored across his right arm, tearing through the dark purple-black fatigues and burning a rather painful surface skin wound.

It was still deep enough though, for his counterpart to react, curling towards his right while exclaiming, “Fucking hell!”

“Yeah, you did,” Johnson stated, marching up and stopping next to him, pistol still pointed and unwavering at her commander.

Bucky could see that there was a hard look in her eyes, and he had to silently admit to himself that he was rather impressed with the deliberate shot she had made with the gun, even though she had not obeyed the initial orders to stay put. He had only moved the tip of his rifle to follow ever so slightly when his counterpart had curled in on himself for a few moments, before uncurling and raising himself again. His counterpart was not clutching his right arm with his left though, and he thought it odd.

A sudden wide smile broke out on Johnson's face though, and alarmingly, she flicked the safety back on her weapon and holstered it. “He's clear and clean, sir,” she stated after a moment. “He didn't drop the crystal. Any other agent would have done that in retaliation, killing you at the same time, or even mashed their left hand on the wound, forgetting that they held the crystal. He's clean.”

Apart from the slightly perturbed feeling that he had for being used as bait, the explanation made sense. His instincts were not clamoring for him to attack or defend, but yet there was still a disquieting feeling inside of him that could not be settled. Something about this reality version of himself, even in a simulation, made him feel hesitant. “What was your mission objective?” he asked, still keeping his eyes on his counterpart.

“Intelligence gathered by Agent Carter and her team pointed to a high probability of the location of where the Framework's servers existed. Bravo was deployed to the site, three hundred feet below ground in the middle of the Aral Sea on the Uzbekistan side,” his counterpart stated, pain from the wound almost not evident in his tone. “The objective was to destroy the facility, thereby destroying the Framework. The mission went FUBAR when HYDRA deployed their newest jackbooted soldiers armed with weapons that none of us had seen before.”

“They definitely went 'pew-pew-pew', but they were firing blue bolts that could probably vaporize flesh if it hit any of us,” Johnson followed up, nodding in agreement. “Concussion grenade knocked us or at least Monty and I out, I think.”

Bucky frowned, and in doing so, lowered his rifle, but did not loosen his grip on it. Something about his counterpart's words and Johnson's supplementary information sounded familiar – a little too familiar. The memories that had coalesced thus far had given him glimpses of strange-looking weapons that HYDRA had wielded during the war. However, without seeing the weapons that the two described, or at least an image of it, he couldn't confirm is own suspicions that the weapons were perhaps, similar to the ones that the Red Skull had developed.

“Concussion grenades knocked all of us out,” he heard his counterpart state.

“Then why the hell are you still being a jackbooted dick?!” Johnson asked, crossing her arms over her chest, looking quite unhappily at her commander. “The hell were you doing, if you clearly have your faculties intact?! Staying in HYDRA and gunning down Inhumans and civilians?! We thought you were turned, a goner, a fucking HYDRA agent! And here you are, waltzing in like everything's all right! Sir.”

It seemed that that was all Johnson had to say for the moment, even with the belatedly tacked on 'sir'. Bucky didn't fault her elation deflating as quickly as it did to see that her commander was not the turned agent they had all thought he was. It was with that thought that he now understood why he still felt hesitant, still felt the disquieting feeling rolling around inside of him. It was a mirror he had looked into, and it had stared back at him, unflinching, unafraid, and unturned. The man standing before him had not broken.

…ненавижу это...

He wanted to add it to the shit list, but something within him told him not to. This James Buchanan Barnes had not broken, and he had. This mirror had knowingly committed atrocities within the Framework under the name of the Widowmaker, just like he had as the Winter Soldier. This mirror was the words that the little girl, Robin, had stated to him that ' _you are one in the same_ '. Were they though? Were they the same? The Winter Soldier had killed and caused upheaval for nearly seven decades. As much as Rogers kept insisting that it was not his fault for committing those crimes, Bucky knew that Rogers was well aware that those actions and memories were a part of him.

“You done, Daisy?” his counterpart asked, having taken her tirade without flinching or showing any sort of emotional reaction to it. There was, however, a touch of concern in his tone that Bucky found slightly surprising.

“Yes, sir,” she answered after a moment, though there was a sense of defeat, of sorrow in the affirmative that she had stated.

“Good,” he heard his counterpart state before glancing over to him asking, “I can pick up my revolver, right? You're not going to shoot me?”

“Not yet,” he answered, deciding to extend a sliver of trust – but only a sliver.

He heard his counterpart snort in laughter as he knelt down to pick up the revolver and re-holstered it. When he stood back up, he held up the crystal, directing his question to Johnson, asking, “You ready, Daisy?”

“Hell yes,” she answered, grinning. “But that still doesn't make up for the fact that you were a complete and utter asshole over these past few days we've been stuck in here, sir.”

He saw him give her a mild look before flicking his eyes over to him saying, “You'd better come over to this side, Barnes.”

He gave both of them an inquisitive look, but considering what Johnson and his counterpart had stated about the crystal, he supposed that it was indeed, safer for him to not be anywhere near Johnson for the moment. Taking the few steps to cover the distance, he turned and stood next to his counterpart, watching him carefully. He saw him throw the crystal on the ground, right next to Johnson's feet. Immediately, a black column of dust erupted from the shattered crystal enveloping the agent before the dust dissipated. What remained was a statue-like figure of Johnson, her expression captured in a determined look, standing at attention.

From HYDRA weaponry, to footage of a killer robot in Sokovia, and the wildly strange people that had fought on either side at the Berlin airport, he thought he had seen it all. This was new, and he was not afraid to admit that he was utterly fascinated as he was unnerved by the black monolith that had enveloped Johnson. If this was how Inhumans were 'born', in a cocoon that looked as imposing as it was strange, he was a little glad that neither HYDRA or SHIELD had not found such a thing in his reality.

“Infantry?” his counterpart suddenly asked in a conversational tone.

He blinked, looking over at him before realizing that he was asking about his military background. Of course, he already knew that his counterpart was an officer, but considering the question, there was no harm in him denying the guess. “Yes,” he answered. Though he was still uneasy, he was curious as to how exactly his counterpart had survived the attempt at brainwashing. He knew that it would not help himself in the long run, but perhaps it would quiet down that part of him that still did not completely trust the man who looked like him, standing next to him.

“How?” he asked.

It seemed that both of them were thinking the same thoughts at the moment, as Bucky did not need to qualify or expand his single question, hearing his counterpart audibly sigh. “I held onto a single thought, a single memory. It was barely enough for me to withstand and preserve a small sense of myself – of who I was – to slowly regain my senses and purpose within this twisted playground.” His counterpart paused for a moment before quietly asking, “You didn't have that luxury, did you?”

“Electro-shock therapy,” he said after a moment's hesitation, tapping his head with his metal hand. “They took everything that was me away. They had to.”

_I'm with you, until the end of the line_.

He frowned slightly to himself as Rogers' voice echoed across his thoughts. It was a promise, a memory of long ago that had finally broken him out of the prison the monster, the Order given and drilled into him, had trapped him within. “They tried to,” he quietly amended his statement after a moment.

Fortunately, the uncomfortable, but enlightening conversation was thankfully cut short as the black monolithic statue of Daisy suddenly exploded, showering the ground with chunks and particles of the transformed crystal. Johnson collapsed to the ground on her knees for a few moments before slowly picked herself up off the ground. She dusted her hands, and though she looked the same, Bucky sensed something different about her, the almost dangerously giddy smile on her face notwithstanding.

“Man, that feels so much better,” she said, rolling her arms around for a moment, before doing the same to her neck, as if she was stretching a few muscles out. “I'm ready to kick some HYDRA ass, sirs.”

“Not quiet yet, Quake,” his counterpart stated. “Robin knows where the Framework's servers actually are. We need that data. Once we get it, then you're free to go kick HYDRA ass.”

“The servers are in here then?” he asked, shifting his grip on the rifle slightly as he saw Johnson continue to shake her arms out before rapidly opening and closing both of her hands at least ten times.

“How, sir?” Johnson asked looking up after she had finished her stretching. “I mean, she gave us that drawing—oooh... huh. She did _see_ you.”

“Drawing?” he heard his counterpart question.

“Yeah,” Johnson answered, gesturing to him. “During our evac-escape from the enclave yesterday, she gave Sarge – you don't mind if I call you that for now, right, okay – a drawing that had both you and him on it. It kinda stated the obvious, you the Widowmaker with a HYDRA symbol on your side of the paper, him with the SHIELD symbol on his side of the paper. She also said, 'you are one in the same'.”

“You know that before she was killed, she was the one who gave Agent Carter and her team the drawing that led us to the location of the Framework servers. You said so yourself before we were all knocked out that the facility was much too small to house such an extensive amount of server racks needed to create and maintain the Framework.”

“Substation or outpost, yeah, I remember... sort of,” Johnson agreed, nodding before snapping her fingers. “New Jersey?”

“What about that toxic wastedump of a state?” he heard his counterpart ask, though there was a slightly derisive tone in his descriptive mentioning of the state.

“Camp Lehigh,” she answered. “Sarge and I were tracing a signal and it led us to Camp Lehigh in here. Thought that it was probably something that Madam Hydra was transmitting from Fitz's work to build... well, whatever the hell she's trying to build with the Inhumans she's captured for study in here. Maybe its not that at all, and the signal could be where the actual servers are. It's underground, and it is near a several major power station, sir.”

“Too much speculation, not enough facts, Daisy,” his counterpart stated, shaking his head slightly. “We are not going to get another shot at this, not with the reset that Madam Hydra is about to do.”

“It's a reset?! Holy hell, we all thought it was just an attempt to purge, not wipe.”

Johnson's aghast expression was alarming, but it was his counterpart's words that were a little more concerning to him as Bucky heard him say, “That's why I broke cover. Once the reset begins, Robin and every other Inhuman and Resistance code in here will be erased. I don't know what that means for us actual people stuck here either, but we won't get a second chance to find out where exactly the servers are in the real-world.”

“You broke cover, but why are you here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Black Widow and I were assigned to plant false intelligence data and close all doors. Early this morning, Madam Hydra pinpointed forty-two locations that she found as anomalies. Black Widow was sent to Lancaster, I was sent here.”

“Oh shit, no, no...” Johnson began, immediately turning around and ran straight back the way she had come from the woods.

Both he and his counterpart followed her, and it was his counterpart who demanded, “Quake, sit rep.”

She didn't immediately answer but she did stop at the edge of the clearing where she had been repairing the waypoint. Bucky immediately brought his rifle to bear, sweeping across the expanse of the clearing, just as he saw his counterpart do the same with his revolver. There was nothing he could see or hear that indicated any sense of danger approaching, but still Johnson was not moving towards the clearing and the repaired box. Instead, he glanced over to see that Johnson had closed her eyes and was extending her arm out.

A ringing sound, not pitched high, but pitched so that he could feel his bones strangely vibrate a little – most prominently felt in his teeth – filled the air. He saw the air in front of Johnson's outstretched arm move ever so much, as if there was a breeze that was not quite blowing through the area. It moved towards the box, but even as it moved, he was already seeing some strange flecks of blue light wherever the warped air touched. When the warped column finally reached the box, the entire area of it was illuminated in thousands of blue flecks, with some coalescing into an outline of what looked to be a person crouched next to the box.

“HYDRA grenade trap...” he heard his counterpart say in disbelief. “It's gotta be the same weapons or whatever powers them, that they attacked us with at the facility.”

At the same time, Johnson opened her eyes, looking at what she had created before she suddenly lowered the arm, with the column of warped, ringing air disappearing. “That... no... Bobbi...”

“Mockingbird was here, Quake?” his counterpart asked. “What the hell was she doing here?”

“Building a waypoint for the exit algorithm,” Johnson answered. “She and Monty... they were scouting out waypoints... forty-one of them were built as of last night. Monty and Mockingbird didn't check in this morning. He was supposed to be near Lancaster, she, here.”

Bucky saw his counterpart press his lips into a thin line. The expletive that he expected for one of them to spit out never came as instead, his counterpart stated, “Madam Hydra knows. She knows, and she's ordered Black Widow and I to close them. Whatever exit plan you and Stevie had in mind, it's not going to work. Someone planted the grenade here. We have to get back to the Triskelion and get the others out now. Regroup, replan, find Robin, and find another way out before the reset begins.”

“We have to go find Monty--” Johnson protested.

“Monty is dead!” he heard his counterpart harshly state. “He already is or will be. You know what Black Widow can do... has done.”

There was no argument being thrown back by Johnson as she held her eyes against her commander's own. “What's the plan, sir?” she asked after a moment, keeping her tone as professionally even as possible, even though Bucky could clearly read in her stance that she didn't want to believe that another member of Strike Bravo was dead.

“Prisoner infiltration,” he heard him answer after a moment, holstering his revolver. Bucky lowered his rifle as he heard him continue, saying, “That's the only excuse I have to return to base so early. Black Widow's out in the field and numerous operatives have already been deployed, so we shouldn't expect too much resistance.”

“If Madam Hydra found the exits, she might know that I'm not normal, sir,” Johnson pointed out.

“Which is why we're going to make a scene,” his counterpart answered before gesturing to him, saying, “and draw out Madam Hydra. I don't know what your rating is in the Army, Sergeant Barnes, but since you're openly carrying a sniper rifle, I'm going to assume you're an excellent shot. I need you to assassinate Madam Hydra. Kill her and we'll get a bit of room to breathe – to delay the reset and give us a chance to build or find an exit.”

He stared at his counterpart, evaluating him again and finding no fault with the incredibly risky, and downright insane plan. He knew that there was no other alternative, not with the confirmed discovery of the waypoints by HYDRA. They had to take the fight to HYDRA fast, in order to get the others out, but there was only one snag in the plan. “Agent Fitz?”

“Cognitive recalibration,” his counterpart answered. “Same thing that Stevie did to get the others out. Last I know, Fitz was wanting to consult your Captain Rogers, Sergeant. Once the alarms start up...”

It was going to chaotic, a free-for-all, and either as messy or messier than things had been when Rogers had initiated the downfall of SHIELD and HYDRA at the Triskelion. The only thing was that there would be no Resistance members, no SHIELD agents to help them. They wouldn't get there in time, even if Johnson made the call now, and it would only accelerate the reset that HYDRA could still potentially carry out without their AI leader.

He drew his sniper rifle out into the forefront, pushing his rifle to the back, saying, “Let's go.”

* * *

“Leopold,” the holographic projection of Madam Hydra appeared in the middle of the laboratory, causing Steve to turn from where he had been staring at the results of the latest simulation. “It seems that Agent Barnes is returning early with a prisoner found at one of the sites. Is the formula ready?”

He caught Dr. Fitz's expectant glance over at him before the young man returned his attention to Madam Hydra, saying, “As ready as it can be, given the short amount of time. Shall we go down and give him the good news?”

“You're not going to send him back out?” he interrupted them before Madam Hydra could answer.

“Agent Romanov will be able to take care of the other sites,” the Director of HYDRA answered with a thin smile on her face as she turned in her holographic form to look at what the results were. “It will give Leopold more time to refine the formula, since it looks like the initial statistics are still not favorable.”

“Agent Barnes is going to die,” Steve stated, trying not to let desperation seep into his tone. “You'd really throw away a good agent's life for something like this?”

“We do what we need to, to give our people the best chance for survival, Captain,” Madam Hydra answered. “I'm sure you've heard of the phrase: sacrifice a few to save the many.”

Steve remained silent as the woman's hologram dissolved. However, rather than head straight for the door, Dr. Fitz instead, returned to the hard-light projections and called up a camera situated at the entrance to the adjacent airfield. “For your consideration, Captain,” he heard him say. “And one last run at creating that formula. You have until I return to try to raise that statistic of success.”

“Thank you,” he managed to bite out. He didn't even bother to watch him leave as he stared at the camera, seeing the tell-tale sign of dust whipping up from an incoming quinjet landing.

Looking away for a brief moment, he drew several different areas from the extracted portions of the super-soldier DNA strand and recombined it with a different set of Inhuman DNA. Frustratingly hitting the hard-light projected button to let the simulation run again, he glanced back at the camera feed, clenching his teeth and wishing that he was not confined to this prison of deception any longer.

~~~

Melting in the shadows was the easy part, as Bucky waited until his counterpart and Johnson were more than half-way across the tarmac to silently drop from the area he had been hiding in. Quickly and quietly, he made his way up to the edge of the building, having spotted several oscillating cameras situated in various corners and on the rooftop. That was all considered part of the 'easy part'. The difficult part was going to be climbing the building as quickly as he could as he faintly heard and saw a group of black-fatigued HYDRA guards emerge from the building.

The decorative slats of stone mixed with metal that lined the outside of the building were thin, slippery, and barely jutting out wide enough for him to get purchase with his fingers. Even with his both of his hands gloved in full leather, he had to arch and press his fingers tightly against the thin slats as he tried to climb as quickly as he could while keeping his movement quiet and unobtrusive. Using any sort of grappling hook was not feasible, because of how loud the shot would have been.

He glanced over and down towards the tarmac where his counterpart and Johnson, cuffed with industrial-grade thick metal links, were now surrounded by the armed guards and being escorted. Looking back up, there was a tiny ledge between the rooftop and almost mid-way in height of the building. It was also the most perfect place to put a hidden camera that most people would never notice, and it was also the best place where he could dig in and position himself. He wasn't going to destroy the camera, but he was going to make sure that he was well-shadowed by the alcove when he made his move.

Sliding himself ever so carefully over towards the alcove, making sure that he did not lose his grip in this free climb, he saw the guards halt about ten meters from the entrance. There was a tell-tale faint mechanical whirl from the alcove camera as he heard it turn slightly. Whomever security was behind that camera was most likely curious as well, as to what was happening. The answer appeared a moment later as he saw, to his slight surprise, both Madam Hydra and the young man from yesterday's enclave battle who had watched the entire thing with a bored look on his face, emerge. Neither his counterpart nor Johnson even had to cause a scene to draw the leader of HYDRA out, and he found that a little concerning.

He shoved that concern aside for the moment. He couldn't hear what was being exchanged, but he knew that he would not get another chance, not with the willful appearance of Madam Hydra. Quickly glancing up, he was not quite in optimal position yet, but it would have to do. Bracing himself as he stretched his arms out to the front and back, he held position between the two walls of the alcove and then did the same with his legs. As soon as he got a firm grip with his boots on the walls, he let his good arm go and leaned back, drawing his sniper rifle into position. As he leaned back and drew his left leg towards his right, his back finally touched the opposite wall and let his metal arm free from the balancing act.

The position was definitely not ideal, nor comfortable, but he had shot using the L-brace position before. With his back pressing against one of the walls, and his booted feet digging into the other side, it helped absorb and distribute the rifle's reaction force. Curling and bringing up the rifle, he made the final adjustments to the scope, having calibrated it during the quinjet ride to the Triskelion, and sighted through it.

Madam Hydra, strikingly beautiful enough that the oddest of images flitted across his thoughts – that of a viper – poised, and confident with an imperious look in her eyes, filled less than half of his scope. Situated in the cross hairs with her was the observer, a young man, younger than he thought possible for someone of his bearing and apparent honorific – a doctor. He could read their lips, understand what they were saying, but he could not get a clear shot of Madam Hydra without shooting through the young man – whom had just been identified as Dr. Fitz.

The young man was the 'Doctor' that had been mentioned several times by Rogers' counterpart, by Johnson, and by Stark. He was a member of Strike Team Bravo, turned and apparently still deeply entrenched within HYDRA. As Bucky kept his finger on the trigger, he needed someone to move him away. At this angle, if he tried to shoot through Agent Fitz, not only would he kill him, but also Madam Hydra as well. He knew from his Winter Soldier fragments that he had been sent to kill a defecting nuclear scientist, and that he had shot through someone protecting the scientist to get to his target.

At this very moment, he had the same choice: kill Madam Hydra and another member of Strike Bravo, or-- отлично. He was already pulling the trigger, just as he saw through the scope, Agent Fitz move ever so slightly forward in a threatening manner. That five centimeter movement was enough for him to get a clear shot, as the explosive echo of his shot rang through the air.

~~~

Steve resisted the urge to punch Agent Sitwell, who had entered the room, obstinately to keep an eye on him as part of the 'escort' requirement, as soon as Dr. Fitz had left. It was clear that the man had heard every single thing he and the young engineer-scientist had discussed. Sitwell had tried to bait him into anger and rash actions with his words. It was also clear that the agent was not happy that he was the cause of some of the diversion of HYDRA resources to 'search' for the 0-8-4, and his, Steve's, apparent sympathy towards the Inhumans. It seemed that Sitwell had expected a super-soldier from another dimension to be all brawn and no brains. For that, Steve was actually glad that he had subverted and upended some of Sitwell's bias and presumptions.

He continued to glance back and forth between the simulation running and the security camera feed, letting the latest slur that Sitwell had thrown at him slide off without giving it any thought. He had heard worse, much worse during his childhood days and growing up in the streets of Brooklyn. Sitwell was a minor-league bully compared to others that he had fought. At this very moment though, he did briefly wish that Natasha – his reality's Natasha – was present to once again, push Sitwell off a rooftop to put the fear of God in him. It would at least shut the agent up and allow him to concentrate on what he could read from the lips on the camera.

He frowned ever so slightly as Sitwell finally fell silent and instead, stepped up to the hard light projection of the camera feed and manipulated it so that it zoomed in and focused on Madam Hydra and Dr. Fitz exiting to the airfield. When they stopped, his frown got even deeper as the camera focused on its current angle and he saw exactly who the 'prisoner' was.

“Agent Skye,” he heard Sitwell mutter, and wondered why Barnes's prisoner, Daisy Johnson was named as so. He needed to find Stevie fast and get word to Stark that Johnson had been captured by HYDRA – they needed to get Johnson out of there before her Inhuman DNA was discovered. “Surprised that Agent Barnes didn't outright kill a traitor like her,” Sitwell continued to mutter. “He knows the standard protocol--”

It happened so fast, that in less than a blink of an eye, Steve had seen Dr. Fitz lean minutely in and then was showered in a faint spray of blood on his right. Madam Hydra didn't even have a chance to change expressions as she toppled over to her right, dead from a sniper shot before she even hit the ground.

“Oh, shit!” Sitwell exclaimed, as a split second later, the alarms started to blare, just as Steve saw Barnes lunge towards Dr. Fitz. Johnson had broken open the cuffs on her wrists, and slammed the ground with the palms of her hands. The building roiled for a moment, nearly sending him to his knees as he wondered what the hell had done that. It was then that he also realized who exactly had the skills, the means, and the ability to kill Madam Hydra with such precision through a single bullet a hairsbreadth away from another SHIELD agent: Bucky.

“Lock down--” Sitwell didn't even get to finish his command over the coms as Steve immediately whirled around and kicked the agent into a wall with enough force to knock him out on impact. The agent curled and slid down in a heap, but his regret for what he had done to the agent was well past spent. Whatever the hell this was, whatever the hell Johnson had done to get Barnes back, this was definitely the time to move, the time to escape.

Snatching up the silver-and-red shield, he yanked the door open, only to emerge into a chaotic scene. Non-combat personnel and black-fatigued soldiers were running everywhere, and most of the soldiers were headed to the ground level. Whatever had rocked the building like an earthquake didn't happen again, but he knew that he had to do everything in his power at the moment to stop the soldiers from getting to the ground floor.

Throwing the shield across a three-hit bounce, he snatched it out of the air just as the first of the three soldiers closest to him collapsed. He let it loose once again, even before the others in the squad running down the hall had turned, noticing his handiwork. Two more soldiers fell before the bullets and the panicked shouts started to fly at him. He ducked and rolled forward, pausing for only a millisecond to snatch the shield back out of the air and dragged it down to deflect the bullets. Charging forward, he leapt up, angling his shield down as he snap-kicked a soldier to his left while slamming his shield into one on the right before throwing it mid-air again.

Landing on the ground, he continued to roll forward and up, grabbing a soldier by the front of her fatigues and flipping her up and over his head. She slammed into the ground, knocked out cold as he let go and spun up, kicking another in the side to knock him over. Snatching the shield from the wall it had lodged into after it had completed its arc, he whirled around and punched the shield into another soldier. Said soldier flew back, bowling into one of his teammates, knocking both to the ground.

“The hell is going on?” he heard Stevie say as he saw her punch her way through the remaining three soldiers down this hall. There were some really strange-looking armaments on her arms – polygon-shield like that was the length of her forearm and half the width of the circular shield – as she approached.

“Madam Hydra has been assassinated. Johnson and our two Barnes boys are holding the line at the airfield. They have Agent Fitz,” he said nearly shouting his words over the clamoring whoop of the alarm, just as another group of soldiers clattered down an adjacent hall. Some were disappearing into the nearest stairwell, some were running elsewhere down the hall.

“Two Barnes boys-- Bucky?!” she exclaimed, looking shocked. That look was quickly wiped away as she refocused and said, “You take the stairwell, I'll take the express to the atrium. Whittle them down until we get to the airfield. Then we get the hell out of here.”

“Copy,” he crisply answered. As she began jogging down the hall, he paused and turned back, shouting, “Don't take the elevator!” At her confused look, he supplemented it with, “Experience!” It was enough to convey to her at least a general idea of what had happened to him the last time he had broken out of the Triskelion, as he saw her nod and continued to run down the hall.

~~~

The last time Bucky had 'picked' multiple enemies off like flies was in his memories, defending and making sure that Rogers was not surrounded by HYDRA soldiers. At this moment though, his targets were the pilots and co-pilots who brought their birds up into the air, trying to break through the earthquake vibration barrier thing that Johnson was producing the keep their weapons at bay. While it would have been more prudent for him to target the engines of the quinjets with his rifle, he knew how reinforced the areas were. The bullets that currently used were not armor-piercing rounds, but they were glass-piercing.

A tremendous crash, followed by the faintest of a scream fading caused him to briefly look up and over from his scope, only to see at least two black-fatigued soldiers knocked out of a window that surrounded an emergency stairwell exit. Someone was fighting in the stairwell, and he caught a glimpse of who it was not a moment later as he saw Rogers and the silver-and-red shield he wielded, briefly appear before two more soldiers were knocked out. Rogers jumped from the landing down to another, bowling back several soldiers as they tried to fire their rifles at him.

The faint popping sounds were suddenly drowned out as a large shadow swooped down and above, over where Bucky was. The buzz of an angry swarm of bees fired up as he saw the quinjet above him unleashing its biting bullets from its rotary cannon into the emergency stairwell. He growled – no one was going to shoot at, injure, or kill Rogers, not while he still had breath in him.

He shoved his sniper rifle behind him as he pushed off his precarious balanced perch and dug his mechanical arm into the exterior of the Triskelion. He began climbing as fast as he could, reaching the rooftop in less than three seconds. His two step leap up and towards the underside of the quinjet was met with him seeing Rogers _jump_ out of the stairwell, hurtling down into the glass ceiling atrium of the Triskelion, with his silver-and-red shield leading the way.

Bucky snagged the underside of the rotary cannon with both hands, dragging and using his momentum to change its trajectory away from Rogers for a brief moment as he saw him crash rather spectacularly into the ceiling and disappear into the building. Swinging this way and that, as the buzz of the rotary cannon continued, the pilot of the quinjet was trying to wrest back control. As Bucky swung himself again, this time augmenting and activating the full power of his mechanical arm, he _pulled_.

The quinjet sagged towards the glass ceiling of the atrium, unbalanced as he heard the distinct creak of metal wrenching from metal over the strain that the engines of the quinjet was putting out. A moment later he felt himself free-falling down, crashing through glass ceiling, as he hung onto the rotary cannon he had pulled down and out of the quinjet. The landing was extremely hard, but he knew he had done worse, survived much worse, and only paused for a second to let his body absorb as much of the impact on the debris-and-bodies-covered floor as he dared.

Bucky took in the scene before him in less than a blink of an eye: Rogers was stirring from his flat impact on the floor curling slightly into the shield. His counterpart rush forward to spray covering fire and began to drag Rogers back by the collar of his black fatigues. Rogers' counterpart sprinted in from the other side of the atrium, flipping over and chaining together several soldiers into their gear as a way to quickly shimmy down and snatch their weapons, without jumping down three floors. Johnson was struggling to contain the barrage from the quinjets in the air from pushing her back. Agent Fitz was out cold, in the center of the protective ring they had formed, and Madam Hydra's body was among the dead.

The trigger mechanism in the rotary cannon was shot and torn apart, but there was still at least a few meter sleeve of bullets that had been primed into the rotary cannon. Digging his mechanical arm into the mechanism, he twisted several wires, feeling the tiny jolt of left over electricity through his metal fingertips as he brought the cannon up and fired. The next wave of soldiers coming through from the far side of the ground floor atrium, the three floors above that, and from the emergency stairwell to his right didn't stand a chance for the next ten seconds.

As soon as the cannon ran out of bullets and the ringing in his ears stopped, he dropped it and drew his rifle forward. There was a moment's pause, when it was only silence and the faint ringing noise of Johnson's earthquake powers that enveloped the atrium. It was a moment to breathe--

“Where the fuck did you get that?!”

Bucky merely pointed upwards with a mechanical finger, hearing the disbelief in his counterpart's tone, before he ejected the current clip from his rifle, checked it, and slammed it back into the rifle, setting it ready. The sounds of more booted feet running down halls and approaching were getting louder. In those movements, he saw out of the corner of his eyes, that Rogers had slowly picked himself up. Rogers was clearly injured from the fall, as his movements gave it away, but there was a familiar determination that Bucky saw in his eyes. He was still going to fight, no matter what happened.

“I can't hold this much longer,” he heard Johnson say, the strain of maintaining her powers and the barrier evident in her voice.

“On my count, Johnson, lower the shield--” Rogers began, just as the next wave of soldiers emerged.

“Hold the heroics, Cap,” the voice of Stark crackled not only in the earpiece that Bucky wore, but also over the general PA system as the alarms were abruptly silenced.

Three Iron Man suits, two of them variants of the familiar red and gold scheme and make that he remembered Stark wearing, landed next to him and the others. The air was immediately filled with the buzzing of bullets and whine of repulsor blasts, as Bucky tracked and fired his rifle in short bursts. Soldiers flew back as he weaved his way in and around what looked to be two remotely-controlled Iron Man suits. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Stark turn ever so briefly away from the atrium and made his way to where Johnson was.

“We got this Quake,” he heard Stark state over the com. “Grab Fitz and prep for evac. Cap, Stevie, do what you need to do and help Falcon, Eeny, and Miney clear the area for landing.”

“Sir,” he heard Johnson answer over the com, pain extremely evident in her tone. He knew then that she must have pushed herself too far, or had already begun to fracture her bones with her powers, since she didn't have her special bracers.

There was an enormous explosion a few seconds later, but Bucky didn't look back to see what had happened. Those were rookie things to do, not becoming of a veteran who needed to concentrate to make sure that Rogers and Rogers' counterpart's six were covered. Ejecting the current clip before it was completely spent, he rammed up a new one, set it and continued to fire, as Stark rejoined him and his counterpart, holding the line.

Ducking when necessary against a bullet-pocked column or even behind one of the remote Iron Man suits, it was only when he was on his final clip for his rifle that he heard the order to, “Fall back!” from Stark.

A quick tap on his left shoulder from his counterpart indicated that he was to fall back now. Half-crouching and back pedaling, he saw that the two remote suits were not moving and were continuing to fire, even as they were being riddled with bullets. Dropping the rifle as the final clip was spent, he drew out all five knives and flung it at the soldiers, downing the five closest ones, before turning and sprinted towards the open cargo bay of the waiting quinjet.

Stark was at the edge of the ramp, the repulsor cannons in his arms glowing and ready to provide the necessary covering fire. Two more remote-controlled Iron Man suits were hovering in the air above the quinjet. He was the last to dash in, hot on the heels of his counterpart, with Stark slamming the button on the side to close the ramp as the quinjet began to rise.

From where he was, he couldn't see who the pilot of the quinjet was, but he had to assume that it was Wilson, judging by the fact that Stark had explicitly stated his call sign. Johnson had already strapped Agent Fitz into a jumpseat, while she herself had taken a seat next to the unconscious young man. Rogers and Rogers' counterpart were shedding their shields near the front of the cargo hold. However, it was the audible whine of a repulsor being powered up and shoved directly into the face of his counterpart that caused him to pause from where he was standing, about to move further into the cargo hold to take a seat.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blast your head off right now, Captain Barnes,” he heard Stark hiss.

“Tony!” both Rogers and Rogers' counterpart exclaimed at the same time.

“He lied, Stevie,” Stark said, barely holding back the anger in his tone. “He lied. He never turned – it was all just a cover for him-- what the hell were you doing, Barnes, willingly and knowingly killing Inhumans and Resistance members?! You led your team--”

Whether it was irrational anger, the strange need to defend his counterpart, or even a byproduct of the perceived slight he oddly felt, Bucky immediately stepped in between his counterpart and the glowing blue energy pulse that was barely being held in check by Stark. He didn't know why he took such an action, only that it felt right, felt justified. The mirror was not his enemy, but it acknowledged him as he acknowledged it – a mutual alliance of shared circumstances for the time being.

“Step aside, Sergeant,” Stark growled.

He stared at Stark, defiantly; feeling the odd anger within him grow ever so slightly-- “That's enough!” Rogers stated, anger and authority behind his tone.

Bucky felt himself being pushed slightly back as Rogers intervened, planting a hand on his chest and on Stark's chest. “That's enough,” he heard him repeat, glaring at all three of them. “There are more pressing issues to deal with, so shove whatever the hell pissing match the three of you have into a corner. HYDRA is coming after us, and we need to find a way out.”

* * *

“Argh, I hate this,” Johnson's grumbling punctured the relative silence that had fallen in the common area for the past hour since their arrival at Stark Tower. “I mean, you're lucky, Sarge—you still don't mind me calling you that, right, good—that you, Cap, and Steve all have that super-quick healing... argh! I can't even type properly with these ice packs acting like an overinflated splint...”

Steve briefly lifted the ice pack from his left wrist as he looked over and down the table to see and hear the young Inhuman agent's grumbles die as she returned her attention to her laptop. He could hear and see her pecking at the keys as if she were a chicken pecking at the grain, looking quite unhappy that she couldn't move her fingers as fast as she used to. There were an enormous amount of ice packs bound through the entire length of her arms to lessen the swelling of her fractured bones.

Johnson, having regained usage of her powers within the Framework via her commanding officer, had been the one to cause the initial earthquake within the building. She had also created a shield of sorts to keep the enemy quinjets at bay until Tony and Sam had arrived. At the moment though, sitting in the relatively safe area of Stark Tower, despite being ordered to not move her fingers or arms by her commander, she was working on completing the exit algorithm.

For the past half hour, he had heard her fire off complaints or ideas, almost always directing them towards Bucky, who was surprisingly sitting silently across from her. Bucky had been writing non-stop in his notebook since they returned, but Steve could tell from the way he sat and the slight tilt of his head that he was listening to Johnson's words. He could also see the faintest of an amused or at least somewhat mild expression within his best friend's body language. Still, Bucky did not say a word or acknowledge whatever Johnson was saying.

It heartened Steve to see that despite what had happened over a week ago, in another reality that felt like a life time past, there were a few positive signs that Bucky was slowly recovering, slowly healing. Sam's words still rang in his ears, but he was happy to see subtle signs of his best friend regaining his memories, of hopefully happier times, even if Bucky wasn't aware that he was subconsciously projecting it. As stressful as the past week had been on both of them, and as worried as he was with Bucky falling back on his memories as the Winter Soldier, Steve could see that the journaling was helping immensely.

Replacing the ice pack back on his wrist, his own swelling on his entire left side from shoulder, to arm, to legs in his fall from the stairwell were already almost completely healed. It was only because he had nearly broken his left wrist, continuing to use it when he had tossed and caught the silver-and-red shield repeatedly to help the others clear the airfield for evac, that he currently had an ice pack in that area. He knew that it would heal in a matter of hours, but even with his injuries, he still had usage of his right hand, which was currently resting on one of the many drawings that the young Inhuman girl, Robin, had created.

After Tony had threatened Barnes on the quinjet, and Bucky had intervened, Steve had had to push away his shock at the accusation that Tony had leveled on Barnes in order to not let another incident rip them all apart. What happened in his reality between him, Tony, and Bucky could not happen here, even if the circumstances were dissimilar. It was also after he had managed to get the three of them to walk away without incident and sit down in the jump seats, that Barnes had confirmed Tony's words to be true.

While he knew that Barnes was not Bucky, or at least the Bucky he knew, had grown up with, fought together with, cherished and defended, and stood by right or wrong, he could feel an echo of something within him shattering in that confirmation. Barnes had willingly become a double-agent, a mole deep within cover, who worked _with_ HYDRA in their twisted mental playground, to slaughter virtual innocents. At least that was his assumption until Barnes demanded that Tony rescan all of his actions taken since Strike Bravo had been captured.

Steve had not understood what that meant until Tony had given a vague explanation while Stevie had urged him to do so, as to what he was really seeing. The AI saw the world differently than them – all zeros and ones, which was how he was able to tell that Barnes' mental signature had not changed at all. Tony had also 'seen' Johnson's transformation from normal to Inhuman within the Framework, hence his timely arrival to help them escape from the Triskelion.

It was also he had been able to easily detect that both he, Steve, and Johnson had multiple fractures within their bones without the need for an x-ray. He also suspected that it was also how Tony was able to confirm with absolution that he and Bucky were not from this reality. But there were limits to the AI's strange vision within the Framework.

Whatever the rescan had revealed, Tony had not stated what it was, but Steve had seen him glower ever so slightly before he had stomped to the cockpit and sat there until they had landed at Stark Tower. As much as Steve wanted verbal confirmation, he finally understood that Bucky's defensive actions to prevent Tony from initially vaporizing Barnes' head with a repulsor blast, should have been the first clue. Whatever Barnes had done as a HYDRA agent had always been deliberate, and not once did Steve remember ever seeing him kill an innocent during that enclave battle.

Had Barnes attempted to stop Natasha from carrying out 'standard protocol' in the aftermath of the battle... Steve didn't even want to think about it. Despite Stevie helping him prepare for his role, he felt woefully unprepared, stumbling around HYDRA, thinking that he was able to help her get Strike Bravo out. As despairing as it felt, the anger that followed had startled him, as he realized just how much Stevie had emotionally suffered, watching and seemingly thinking that Barnes was a trapped and turned HYDRA agent.

There had been quite a number of choice words he had wanted to say to Barnes, but he didn't say it. The actions that Barnes had taken were like a cracked mirror to some of the actions that Bucky had taken when they had been growing up. It would be like yelling at Bucky, and Steve couldn't do that even if he wanted to. He had made a promise long ago, reaffirmed that decision a little over a week ago, and right or wrong, he was going to stick by Bucky's side until the end of the line. Barnes was both similar and completely different from Bucky, and so Steve had merely sat silently in the quinjet until they had arrived at Stark Tower.

The elevator on the other side of the common area dinged as the doors slid open, revealing Tony. “Bad news,” the AI stated, before pausing and looking around. Steve saw Tony blink a couple of times before focusing his attention on him, asking, “Are they still arguing?”

Steve shrugged ever so slightly. He could still hear his counterpart and Barnes' muffled voices, sometimes raised, other times lowered, coming from a room down the hall. He had not yelled at Barnes, but it seemed that Stevie was determined to give him her piece of mind – in private – with regards to what he had done while under cover as a HYDRA agent. That had quickly escalated into both of them yelling at each other.

Thankfully, with the walls and door in between the room and the common area, their argument was muffled to just indiscernible voices. While he was not interested in what Stevie was saying to Barnes, he knew that there had been that one time in which he had nearly lost control of his temper. He had exasperatedly admonished Bucky for attempting to kill the Interpol officers while escaping the apartment complex. It wasn't yelling, but it had been close enough.

“Quake, can you go...” Tony began before silently gesturing towards the end of the hall. “Because I'm just going to punch him if I go down there.”

“Oh and I'm not going to, Stark?” Johnson said, looking a little annoyed.

The scrape of a chair being pushed back halted whatever Tony was going to snark back at Johnson as Steve saw Bucky get up, shake his head at all of them and head down the hall. “So, find anything from the drawings?” Steve heard Tony ask him, as a faint knocking noise was heard on one of the room's doors.

“Not yet,” he answered, returning his attention to the task that he was supposed to be doing, other than let his thoughts and mind wander.

Barnes' insistence on finding Robin and pinpointing the potential true location of the Framework's servers had also been another point of contention that had not been fully addressed just yet. While Stevie and Barnes had been arguing in private, Johnson had helpfully explained to him that Strike Bravo's original mission objective was to destroy the Framework – specifically the servers that built and held this place together. Fortunately, after escaping the enclave, Steve had been glad to hear that the Inhumans had been successfully relocated, though Tony had not stated where. Tony had also collected all of Robin's drawings thus far, providing them with a glimpse of things that could possibly happen in the future. Whether that future was in the Framework or not, was something that they needed to sort through.

Steve looked up from his brief sorting of the drawings that had been scanned into the table-top computer to see Bucky return. Following in his wake were their counterparts, though with less angry storm clouds seemingly hanging over either of them. “You got news, Tony?” he heard Stevie ask.

“Good and bad,” Tony answered, bringing up a holographic hard light projection of a floor within Stark Tower that had a door-high rectangular frame standing in the middle of the empty floor. “Good news, the assassination of Madam Hydra definitely stopped whatever Black Widow was doing to destroy the waypoints. I've deployed the algorithm, but since its not fully complete yet, it will take longer for the exits to build. For good measure, I've managed to mask and hide one here on the twenty-third floor of this building. I've already diverted at least fifty-percent of my processing capacity to make sure that HYDRA doesn't find out about this hidden exit. Most of my other processing capacities are being expended to reinforce this building and add some robust code into the Resistance living in the basement. If HYDRA doesn't fall for the other exits or successfully dismantles the rest, they're definitely going to push all resources towards here. I don't have enough of a grip on the Framework's base code or functions to lock them out.”

“And the bad?”

Tony was uncharacteristically silent for a moment before looking over to Bucky saying, “First off, all I wanted to say is, good shot, Barnes. You assassinated her. She was quite dead. I even scanned her to make sure she was dead.” He then returned his attention to the projector and brought up a grainy video feed. “But, somehow, she's alive.”

Steve frowned as he saw the looped feed of Madam Hydra walking and talking to a couple of HYDRA agents, somewhere within what looked like the destroyed airfield at the Triskelion. While she looked quite alive and able to move, the right half of her face looked as if it had been splintered and flowered from inside out. White bones of her skull were showing, and there were strips of flesh still hanging off of her jaw. A massive amount of blood that soaked into her clothes on the same side, while a tiny trickle seemed to only have affected her left. Only a high powered bullet entering and exiting from left to right could have produced that kind of effect.

“Geez, is she a zombie?” Johnson muttered, looking quite horrified.

Tony sighed, “Looks like it. Her code looks so fragmented that even I'm not sure how the hell she resurrected herself. My only theory is that maybe she made a partial backup of herself in that android body of hers back in the real-world before she died? That somehow, when she died in the Framework, that backup kicked in when it was safe to do so? Because that's the only reasonable explanation that I can come up with.”

“Oh, like a system restore,” Johnson supplemented. “Which means, she might not have all the memories of what happened... hmm...”

“How many backups would she, or could she have, Tony?” Stevie asked, looking concerned. “I mean, if she builds other physical copies of herself in the real-world... The resources that she needs can easily be flagged by SHIELD, but it's going to be like an army of robots if she continues to clone herself.”

Steve couldn't help but wince slightly as he remembered just how much had been sacrificed to stop Ultron. That had been without a system called the Framework in his reality to potentially save or keep a back up copy of the rampant AI. This was potentially more dangerous and definitely different – especially with the danger that HYDRA posed on a crippled SHIELD.

“I honestly don't know,” Tony admitted. “I mean, I'm growing in here, but she had years to grow, to develop, and to evolve.”

“Which is why the Framework still needs to be destroyed. Bravo's mission objective still stands, no matter what,” Barnes spoke up. “We destroy this place, she not only loses her extensive hold over the populace, but also a potential place to hide and continue to evolve. We know that there's only so much an artificial brain can evolve until it breaks down.”

“Bucky--” Stevie began, protesting.

“Not really,” Steve jumped in, trying not to grimace as he was about to pick apart the well-thought out theory that Barnes had put forth. Had he not experienced what the Avengers experienced a year ago with Ultron, he would have never thought otherwise. However, considering that he had seen and heard Agent Fitz describe the 'gift' that had been left behind by this reality's Red Skull, he was sure that perhaps the same strange stone that gave Vision his abilities was present in this reality.

“There's a stone, yellow in color in our reality, that was used to augment an artificial intelligence to combat the rampant one that Tony created and lost control of. None of us... well, maybe one, knows what exactly the stone is, but I do know for a fact that it has boosted Vision's mental capabilities and evolution. His artificial brain is still expanding, still learning, and still growing,” he stated. “I don't know where exactly this stone is here, but since there's clear evidence that the tesseract is here as well, means that that stone most likely exists.”

“Tesseract?” Stevie asked.

“This,” he began, grabbing one of Robin's drawings and flipped it over to the blank side, as he took the pen that Bucky had silently offered. He roughly sketched a cube and what he remembered the spherical light haloed around it, before shoving it into the table-top scanner. It popped up and he grabbed the projection with his right hand, expanding it. “That's what it looks like. Blue in color and definitely not from Earth. Me, Bucky, and our team were fighting HYDRA during World War Two, and they used weapons powered from this. They were weapons that looks like the one I saw Agent Fitz trying to recalibrate to vaporize the vibranium shield. It can and has vaporized people before.”

“Yeah, we've seen,” Johnson stated, looking a little disturbed. “Or at least the after image. Bobbi was killed by a grenade that vaporized her.”

“Christ they could've conquered the world, if they had been using this kind of weapon in our World War Two,” he heard Barnes softly exclaim. “They only recently introduced the tesseract weapons with their soldiers. What the hell do they need those weapons for?”

“Agent Fitz said something about HYDRA wanting to conquer Wakanda and taking their supply of vibranium,” Steve answered.

“But Wakanda is a third-world country,” Johnson said, looking puzzled.

“Agent Fitz claimed that they weren't,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“How'd you destroy the tesseract, Cap?” Tony asked before any further discussion on Wakanda could be had.

“Didn't,” he said, shaking his head. “It was lost somewhere over the Atlantic. SHIELD found it and began to study it. They tried to develop similar weapons to the ones HYDRA created. Ultimately though, it proved fruitless. It was returned to the Asgardians.”

“Asgardians? Aliens from outer space?” he heard Barnes ask, looking slightly alarmed. “I didn't believe the story you told Madam Hydra about your Earth facing greater extraterrestrial threats than domestic ones, but looks like I was wrong.”

“So, find the blue cube thing, find this other yellow stone that can allow an AI to grow, and maybe we'll take away HYDRA's advantage,” Tony optimistically stated.

“Destroy the Framework as well,” Barnes added.

“Why not repurpose it?” Stevie asked, frowning. “Let Tony take control of it after we destroy Madam Hydra and let him grow in here. Keep the R&D that has been done in here, allow him to supervise--”

“That's just HYDRA boxed in a different package, Stevie,” Barnes argued.

Steve didn't even need to see his counterpart's expression to hear the underlying anguish in her tone to understand that the AI had nowhere else to go after he had been delivered into the Framework. Tony, despite not acting like the Tony he knew, had been built for a single purpose – to attack and destroy the AI within the Framework. What happened after that was something that he knew that Stevie could not stand to see happen. As much as he wanted to agree with his counterpart, seeing her rationale, her reasons clearly, and her still mourning the loss of Tony, he couldn't.

“He's right,” he quietly stated, forcing himself to focus only on his counterpart and not on Tony, Barnes, Johnson, or Bucky. He could feel the AI's gaze on him though, as he continued to say, “You said you took the world as is, Stevie. I learned it the hard way. Right now, even without Madam Hydra's guidance, Agent Fitz and whatever R&D they've developed in here is in dangerous hands, especially with the development of that augmented super-soldier formula. They have your blood, they have my blood, and they have a lot of Inhuman data. The rate of death was still high, last I checked, but with each combination and simulation, it has been slowly decreasing. If this is the only place that holds that data, it needs to be completely destroyed.”

“Geez, shit, you were going to be the first test subject, sir,” Johnson softly exclaimed as Steve saw her glance over towards Barnes. “They even looked _happy_ about that...”

It was an effort for Steve to not look over towards Bucky, knowing just how close a parallel had been almost drawn between their reality and this one. Bucky had survived whatever Zola had done to him to make him a super-soldier, but this combination with Inhuman traits was more dangerous than ever. Combined with the Framework as an actual simulation that was able to be carried out with little regard to the lives of its occupants, real or not, was frightening.

“How many, Steve?” he heard Stevie ask after a few moments of silence. The anguish was still in her eyes, but there was also a hard look that he recognized as a mirror of his own – of the difficult decisions that needed to be made.

“Five, plus Agent Romanov,” he answered. “They were to be augmented with the final version.”

“Why re-augment Romanov to a super-soldier? She's already one.”

Steve was not the only one to stare at Bucky, who had said those words. Before any of them could ask how that statement came about, another voice, situated in the far corner of the common area, bound to a chair, answered, “Because her work as been a gift to mankind, and she will lead us into the future by shaping the world to come.”

~~~

Bucky narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as the others around the table swiveled their heads to the far corner of the common area, staring at Agent Fitz with different degrees of incredulity. As puzzled as he was as to why his counterpart had not told the others that Romanov was already augmented, he could only suppose that his counterpart may not have ever sparred or done anything physically-related with her. It was not his primary concern at the moment though, as he saw Stark move away from the table and approach the bound, but not gagged young agent.

He supposed that he had been the only one to actually notice that Agent Fitz had woken up half-way through Rogers' explanation of whatever HYDRA was doing with an augmented version of the super-soldier formula. Yet he had refrained from pointing it out, as he was curious if whatever Stark had or was doing to the young man to help him regain his senses, had worked. He wasn't sure at the moment though, that the baleful glare that was being thrown at all of them indicated that Stark's solution was working.

“Okay,” Stark said, stepping around the young agent in a circle. “I can see it worming through him. The reversing virus should've worked, but he still sounds like an asshole. Definitely not like the Fitz I remember.”

“Worming...what the hell did you do to him, Stark?” Bucky heard his counterpart ask.

“Same thing I was going to do to you to rid yourself of being a HYDRA jerkwad,” Stark slung back before jerking a thumb at Agent Fitz, saying, “Loosen whatever cerebral hold Madam Hydra did when she jammed both of you into the Framework.” He saw him crouch for a moment, staring at the young agent eye to eye before standing back up. “Cap, let me see that ring.”

Bucky saw Rogers remove the ring from his finger and stepped over to hand it to Stark before stepping back. He saw the AI examine the ring, twist it just so that the tiny needle popped out before twisting it back. Stark did not return the ring but stepped over and in front of the young agent again, crouching and staring at him with critical eyes.

“Anthony Stark. I'd never thought SHIELD would have the resources to construct an AI,” he heard the young man state, seeing a dangerous smile blossom across his lips. “This must have been a one-way trip for you, into this Framework that Madam Hydra controls. She told me about the real-world, about how the continued resistance has caused grievous wounds to score upon the Earth, rather than the healing that the world needs. She has seen, Stark, the threats that are coming. You should as well--”

“Yeah, okay,” Stark interrupted whatever other grandiose declarations that the young man was going to make as he stood up and returned to the table. Bucky saw him set the ring down on the table as Stark continued to say, “Fitz has definitely lost his marbles for now.”

“To further answer your question as to why we're re-augmenting Agent Romanov,” Agent Fitz continued to say, swiveling his head slightly towards them, “well...the Inhumans may be a terrestrial threat, but they were deliberately grown here from an extraterrestrial threat. We must, after all, care for the future of the world, if any of us are to survive it.”

“Tony, will he return to normal if we get him out of the Framework?” he heard Rogers' counterpart ask.

“I don't know,” the AI admitted. “Honestly...I don't even know why the virus is not working. It should've. It--” Stark paused for a moment as he frowned and then looked back up, as if he had realized something. “Barnes, leave.”

“Stark--” his counterpart angrily began protesting.

“Not you, Double-oh-Six. The other Barnes,” Stark interrupted, glaring at his counterpart before looking over toward him. There was clear anger and surprisingly, anguish in his tone as he repeated, “Leave. Now.”

Bucky blinked, puzzled as to why he in particular were being singled out and asked to leave, when everyone else looked to be staying. He didn't even get to voice his question as Stark continued, saying, “I don't want that PTSD of yours to flare up, because I don't know what the hell you're going to do. So leave.”

“What the hell are you going to do to Agent Fitz, Tony?!” he heard Rogers question in an incredulous tone, as he realized exactly why Stark was kicking him out. “He's just a kid!”

He turned and began to walk out of the common area, not bothering to pay attention to whatever Stark was saying. The others' voices also began to rise as an argument broke out. He passed the bedroom he had taken before to rest in – it was much too close to the common area. His footsteps carried him all the way down the hall, but he knew that even with several walls between him and the common room, and a door, he would probably still hear it.

Walking straight into the bedroom at the end of the hall, he slammed the door close behind him and finally stopped. He could hear the faintness of the voices arguing now, still questioning, and slid down to sit on the floor with his back against the door. The layers were not enough, but it was better than nothing. The faint voices abruptly stopped, but what replaced it was a long-drawn out scream that seemed to echo in his head for the briefest of moments before it too, stopped.

In the silence that followed, he drew his hands towards his ears and covered them. The scream that Agent Fitz had let loose in response to whatever Stark had done may have been over, but the fragments that floated across his eyes told him that it would never be over. All he could hear now, was his own voice, screaming for it to stop, to just let him remain who he was, who he had been.

 

~*~*~*~

 


	8. Memory: рассвет

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**рассвет** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Pre-Dawn, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

“I miss this.”

Bucky frowned slightly as he turned his head slightly to his right to see Steve staring up at the sky with his left arm curled under his head. They were lying side-by-side on the steep hill that overlooked the gully where their HYDRA target – another munitions storage base – was. It was dark, but nearing dawn as the dark night sky covered in trees and a heavy layer of clouds were slowly giving way to lighter colors. The circular shield was lying over Steve's chest with his right arm curled around it, as if it were a blanket of sorts covering him. As much as Bucky wanted to outright laugh at the image of Steve 'Captain America' Rogers with a shield blanket over him, he dared not to. Steve had whispered his comment so low that Bucky had barely heard it.

“What, lying in wait, ready to either get shot by HYDRA or shoot them?” he whispered back.

“No,” Steve said, and Bucky thought he heard a sort of melancholic tone in that whisper. “Just... this... like we used to do, lying on the rooftops at night, staring at the stars until dawn came. Without people about to shoot at us.”

“Well, dawn's coming,” he answered, returning his gaze up to and through the trees. It had been cloudy the entire day and into the night, but for what they were about to do, missing the stars in the sky this one night didn't bother him. “It's a 50 mile trek back to the nearest village if you're looking for the usual morning loaf of bread.”

At that he heard Steve softly snort in laughter before shifting slightly. Neither of them had gotten much sleep, and even then, Bucky didn't think either of them had slept. HYDRA was only a hill slide down away, and though they were both on the very off-beaten path, each sound, each snap of a twig or hoot of an owl seemed louder than normal. He looked over again to see that Steve had removed his arm from being curled behind his head and had lifted up the sleeve of his uniform ever so slightly to take a quick look at the watch strapped to his wrist.

“Time to move?” he asked. The angle in which Steve held the watch made it hard for him to see the hands' position on the watch.

“Just about,” Steve answered.

Bucky rolled over, careful not to roll onto his sniper rifle, which had been set to the side of him. Shifting his regular rifle to the back, he belly crawled up the hill and peered over the lip of it. Smiling slightly at what he saw in the pre-dawn light, he shimmied back down, saying, “There's a lot of fog down there.”

A rather interesting grin appeared on Steve's face, as he heard him ask, “Remember that time when we managed to lure the Cowling brothers to the dock?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, smirking as he knew exactly what he was referencing. “Good times.”

“I think HYDRA needs to be scared once in a while,” Steve casually stated, sliding down the hill.

Bucky sighed, laughing to himself as he watched Steve reach the ground and silently take off towards the smaller hill that would take him into the front entrance of the gully. There was, dare he actually think it, an excited _bounce_ in Steve's gait. Instead of the usual nightmare stories that many local villagers talked about HYDRA soldiers and their abduction of people at night for experiments and other things, it was Steve's turn to become the nightmare for these HYDRA soldiers at the front entrance.

Coordinating via the time on their watches, Jones was leading the other members of the Howling Commandos to destroy the base from inside-out. It was up to him and Steve to distract and make sure that HYDRA kept their attention on the front to give Jones and the others the opportunity to infiltrate through the back.

Grabbing his sniper rifle, he crawled back up to the top of the hill and carefully set his sniper rifle down, peering through the scope. It was a night-vision one, modified by Howard Stark, that allowed him to see much better than the original scope at night, but also through the fog. A grin made its way up his lips as he saw the outline of Steve slowly and carefully make his way into the compound. Two HYDRA soldiers were standing next to a turret, and he saw Steve quietly and quickly knock both out.

The faint _thonk-thonk_ of the shield was music to his ears as he continued to watch through the scope, Steve attacking as quietly as possible. Confusion was spreading through the ranks of the soldiers as he saw some of them nervously look around, only to be swiftly taken out with barely a sound by Steve. Bucky had to admit that it was entertaining to watch his best friend at work and being a menace to HYDRA. There was a certain, strangely lithe grace about which Steve was methodically taking out the soldiers; some of the moves Bucky recognized from their days fighting bullies in the alleyways, some definitely learned from Army training, and other moves that looked improvised but practical.

While he knew that it was voyeuristic of him to just watch a bunch of HYDRA soldiers being taken out by Captain America, he had to admit, _he_ had the best view possible. He wished life were a little simpler, his own thoughts about Steve a little less muddled and confusing, that this was just a milk run against some nameless bullies, but those were childish wishes. He was happy and proud at the same time that he was here, fighting with his best friend at his side. So he continued to watch, continued to make sure that even though Steve looked like he could take care of stuff on his own, he would always have Steve's back.

That included making sure that the fog remained, as he moved the scope ever so slightly away from Steve and focused it on the outline of another turret. His eyes weren't deceiving him as he saw that night was rapidly transitioning to dawn. Looking up from the scope, he stared into the gully and saw that the fog was still there, still thick. It was the sky that he now needed to worry about as he looked up and through the trees.

The clouds had parted revealing the rising sun creeping over the rolling hills and trees of the area. Daybreak had arrived.

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**рассвет** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	9. печь (Furnace)

**Chapter 5: печь (Furnace)**

 

It wasn't humming at a frequency that he could feel through his teeth, but it was humming audibly; low, unobtrusive, but definitely loud enough for someone walking into this empty floor to hear it. Yet, Bucky found himself not mesmerized by the noise that the exit was making, but rather by the brightness of how it was being made. It was a doorway in height and length, but only its thin frame, completely black, completely angular, smooth, and matte in color, had been built thus far. There was a bright spark, like a wielder's spark that ran up, down, and across the inner area of the frame, adding a thin layer of a bright violet-red line with each pass it made. That line cooled to the black color, solidifying, and he wondered how this 'doorway to hell' would look when it was finished. Was it to be just a plain black door, one of Stark's automated sliding doors, something else?

“I'd never thought it'd look this elegantly simple.”

Bucky turned his head slightly and looked up from where he was sitting, his back against the wall, to see that Rogers had stopped next to him. Of course, he had heard Rogers enter the floor via the lone elevator that ran through here, along with his footsteps approaching, but he had not moved from where he was. Rogers was being illuminated solely by the sparks of light and the occasional change in color from the code, algorithm, whatever was building this thing. There was a contemplative, almost peaceful look on his face, as if he were not burdened any longer with the weight of the world upon him, and Bucky didn't know why he found it reassuring and comforting.

“Sorry for disturbing you, Bucky,” Rogers apologized after a few moments, looking down at him. “You weren't in your room, and I... well, I kind of overreacted.”

He gave Rogers a slightly skeptical look, noting that Rogers was wearing his uniform again, whereas he was just wearing his shirt, combat trousers, socks, and boots. He had left the kevlar vest upstairs, along with the sniper rifle. If putting on the uniform was what Rogers referred to as 'overreacting', it was quite mild. Yet, he didn't fault him for putting on the uniform again. As much as Stark had stated that he was doing everything he could to reinforce and hide this exit, Bucky had his doubts about hiding anything from Madam Hydra. He was fairly certain that they could be attacked at any time.

“It suits you more than me,” he stated.

Rogers looked as if he wanted to say something but seemed to take it back before it even left his lips. While his memories were still somewhat jumbled, the uncharacteristic hesitation in Rogers caused him to be slightly concerned. It was not alleviated when he heard Rogers ask, “C-can I sit?”

He frowned slightly. “Since when did you ever ask, Steve?”

Rogers looked even unhappier with his question as he saw him scratch the back of his head for a moment, before saying, “It's just after...after what Tony did... telling you to leave... I-I realized--”

Bucky could not help but sigh in slight exasperation, the action done almost instinctively and without any memories to accompany it. He didn't know why, but it just felt like something he had done over and over again – get annoyed whenever Rogers began to stammer and try to worm his shy way out of something with a lame excuse. Whatever Stark had done to Agent Fitz earlier was not his concern, even though his sitting here, staring at the exit construction when everyone else had gone to bed, had finally quelled the echoes of his long ago screams.

“Just sit. You don't need to ask,” he stated.

He returned his gaze to the mesmerizing exit being constructed as he heard Rogers sit down next to him, drawing his legs up so that he was resting his chin on his knees. It was a terrible posture, but he wasn't about to go around correcting how people decided to sit, as it was not his problem to solve. He was also quite sure that the serum running through Rogers' blood would self-correct any type of arthritic issues he had in the future.

“So Nat is a super-soldier in this reality,” Rogers stated after a few minutes of silence that had fallen between them.

“Romanov is,” he agreed, as he realized what Rogers was truly saying without outright saying it. He didn't know what exactly Rogers' relationship was with Romanov in their reality, but it seemed as if the ex-KGB/FSB spy was at least a friend. Or friendly and loyal enough to have 'switched sides' and stalled the one who called himself the Black Panther. This Romanov in this reality, real or simulated, was dangerous enough that he was not keen on fighting her again. “I'm not helping you save her.”

“I wasn't going to try to, Bucky,” Rogers answered in a forlorn tone. “After what she did to her own allies after you guys escaped... We need to get out of here, and I don't just mean this Framework. We need to go _home_.”

He had no words of reassurance, and the fragments were of little help to him to deal with the despair that he clearly heard in Rogers' tone. However, it disappeared a few moments later as he saw Rogers glance over at him, asking, “How are you holding up? Is this--” he saw him gesture broadly “--still giving you focus?”

“Yes,” he answered, and felt relieved that he no longer had to concentrate and focus his words in English, or feel a sort of happiness that he was speaking plainly in English. His memories were not all written coherently in the journal, but it was a start. Even if they left now, even if he did not have that journal with him when they left, it was still enough for him to remember – to clearly remember a little of who he had been.

я знаю.

“When we get back, we'll find some place to lay low for a while,” he heard Rogers declare, though he saw a bitter smile upon his lips. “Tony... his PR team will probably put out something... but it won't matter. They shouldn't be able to find us. Sam and the others, I'll find a way to get them out of General Ross' custody. They don't deserve to be locked away. You don't have to help me, Bucky. I can do it myself. It'll be dangerous for you to come with me on that mission anyways. I'll free them, and then...”

“HYDRA had planted various caches of material, currency, and weapons that haven't been discovered or dismantled by governments yet,” he stated. “They were put there in the various times that I needed to lay low after a mission, before I could cross back into friendly territory, or otherwise needed for a cover.” He glanced back towards the glowing sparks from the door, pausing for a moment as he felt Rogers' eyes on him. “It's how I was able to survive in Romania. You'll need some of that to break Wilson and the others out.”

“And get your backpack of journals back,” he heard him softly say after a few moments.

This time, he audibly sighed of his own volition, as it was something he suspected that would have come up later rather than sooner. “The journals won't work, Steve,” he stated after a moment, looking down at the floor. “They're just words to me if I read through them. I told you that everything floating in my mind is like an incomplete...book... The journals... I need to piece the fragments back together again. Like I'm doing right now. The notebook doesn't need to come with me out of the Framework – I don't think it can anyways, but it's enough for now.”

“How... why?” he heard him ask.

“The words Zemo used... to turn me back into the Winter Soldier...” he began, but could not continue, as the splintered fragments from that moment where he saw nothing but black across his eyes stopped him from saying anything further.

“What were the words, Bucky?” the hesitating, almost whispered words that were so soft that he thought he had imagined it, issued from Rogers.

“...нет... Остановить запрос...” he managed to stutter out, as he squeezed his eyes shut. All he could see at the moment was black in his mind and behind his eyelids, even though the hum of the exit being built was still clearly ringing in his ears.

A burst of color behind his eyes, of a red-white-blue firework, shattered the darkness as he felt himself being engulfed in a warm embrace. Rogers was leaning into him, or was it him being pulled closer, he didn't know. However, he did hear, “I'm sorry, Bucky. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I'll do better next time. I won't ask you again. I'm sorry...”

It was not the apologetic stream of words from Rogers that allowed him to begin pushing away at the black prison that had temporarily caged him, nor was it the embrace he had been pulled into. It was the fact that he knew deep down, that it was the promise that two Brooklyn boys made long ago, that would always bring him back. No prison within his mind was going to keep him there, not when he knew:

_I'm with you, until the end of the line._

* * *

“Rise and shine, Tristan and Yvaine!”

Steve awoke, blinking, surprised that he had fallen into as deep of a sleep as he had done. While he wasn't refreshed, he didn't feel as tired as he had been for the past couple of weeks either. Looking up and moving his neck towards the direction of where the strange wake-up call had come from, he winced. He had definitely slept wrong, as he found himself slouching slightly against the wall, Bucky's weight leaning against him notwithstanding.

The smirk he saw spread across Agent Johnson's face served to further wake himself as he asked, “Who?”

Her expression fell as she looked at him quizzically before asking, “Really? Your reality doesn't have a movie called Stardust?”

“Uh, yeah, we do,” he answered, as he felt Bucky stir awake and shift to sit upright.

After apologizing profusely for mentally hurting Bucky with his insensitive question about whatever words Zemo had used to turn Bucky back into the Winter Soldier, they had sat in silence, watching the exit being built. Steve had been utterly afraid to say or ask Bucky anything else after seeing the strange fugue that Bucky had briefly fallen into and snapped out of. He had kept his left arm looped around him, hoping that his physical presence was enough to stop that from happening again. One of them, he didn't remember who, had fallen asleep first, and it seemed that now, it was morning – or at least time to wake up.

“It's... I never saw it. It's on my list of things to catch up on,” he said, as he glanced over to see Bucky stand up, almost absently brushing himself down. There was nothing that he could see in Bucky's body language to suggest that Bucky was going to fall back into the fugue. So he stood up as well, tilting and rolling his neck slightly to try to alleviate the crick in it.

“List of things to catch up on?” Johnson asked.

“I was frozen for almost seventy years, Agent Johnson. I've only been awake for a few,” he said, as he glanced over towards the black monolith of an exit to see that it was at least three-quarters complete. He returned his attention to Johnson, asking, “Is that exit supposed to look like that?”

“Stark and his pop-culture references,” Johnson answered, crossing her heavily bandaged arms over her chest. “I swear, if I come out of that exit on the other side and start singing 'Daisy', I'm going to jump back in here and have more than words with him.”

Steve decided to leave that alone, as he gestured to Johnson and said, “I don't hear anyone storming the Tower.”

“Stark's called a meeting. The Resistance has already been briefed, and they've apparently picked up some intel over night.”

He nodded. A moment to rest, a moment for peace and quiet, a moment to just catch his breath from the harrowing week thus far, was over. Even in a virtual world, he hadn't realized just how tired he had felt, even though none of this world around him was real. While he knew that Stark Industries and quite a few other companies and universities all over the world were developing virtual-reality tech, he hoped that it would never get to the level of this.

He didn't know how close they were to getting the technology to this, but perhaps if there still were some ears that were friendly towards him after what had happened, he could try to warn them about the consequences – when he and Bucky returned to their world. This kind of world, where even if it were not under the control of SHIELD or HYDRA, was a dangerous one – especially since there was no delineation between code and actual humans. People in this world were trained to kill with little consequences, and if it ever came to fruition in his reality, then there would be the possibility of HYDRA resurrecting just by sheer ignorance within the hearts of ordinary people.

Following Johnson, the three of them made their way back to the lone elevator and took it up to the penthouse floors. When the doors opened, rather than see Tony in the common area, he instead saw Stevie standing at the table, swiping and manipulating a couple of hard light projections of Robin's drawings. In the far corner, Agent Fitz was still strapped to the chair, but to his surprise, Barnes was sitting across from the young agent, having stopped whatever questioning he had been doing when the three of them entered.

“Tony says that he and Sam will be up in a few. Some last minute intel just came in,” he heard Stevie state as she overlaid two drawings together for a few moments before scattering both.

He noticed that she was wearing a similar uniform to his own. Surprisingly, there were two circular shields resting against the legs of a chair at the table. One of them was a red-white-blue shield that had the blue and red motif in a circular target-like concentric circles, with a ring of thirteen white stars on the outermost circle. The other was the familiar silver-and-red star shield. Though he wondered where she had gotten the uniform, he supposed that because she had been in disguise and dressed in the black fatigues of HYDRA for a while, her uniform had been stored at Stark Tower.

Johnson had also changed into a SHIELD uniform before she had come down to wake him and Bucky up. Though standard issued, the uniform had come complete with the patch over her left arm, and she had two hand guns slung over either side of her waist holsters. Her sleeves were rolled up to accommodate the bandages she wore around her forearms, but considering that she was wearing sidearms, he could only suppose that she was at least able to shoot without too much trouble.

Barnes, he was still wearing the dark purple-black fatigues signature to his HYDRA uniform, but to Steve, it reminded him of the slightly out of regs and color uniform that Bucky had worn during the war. That uniform was in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, as was his old uniform, repaired and returned with his apologies. It seemed that they were all ready to go into battle, as he heard and saw out of the corner of his eyes, Bucky step away and make his way down the hall to retrieve his vest and sniper rifle.

“How's Agent Fitz?” he quietly asked his counterpart, stepping up to the table as Johnson moved a little further down to bring up whatever information had been sent ahead, and a map of New York City itself. It still sickened him to have seen what Tony had done, even though it gave him insight as to what Bucky had been through. He supposed that he had been utterly naive to think that perhaps the AI that was Tony was completely different than Ultron.

“He's been questioning him since even before I woke up,” she quietly answered, briefly looking up and over towards where the young man and Barnes were. “Nothing like what Tony did yesterday, but either I can't hear what Fitz is saying, or Bucky is not getting through to him at all.”

“What Tony did--” he began, feeling a brief flood of anger fill him.

“Shouldn't have been done,” she finished, pausing for a moment. “I know. I just... I couldn't believe that he thought that it would be quickest way to get him back to normal, to at least begin to question the hold that this world has on him.” He saw her twist the ring on her finger for a moment before continuing to say, “I can't excuse what he did as learning and growing pains for an AI. He knows that that was wrong. Maybe...maybe it's for the better that... maybe Bucky's right... absolute power corrupts absolutely... maybe this place needs to be destroyed...”

“It's difficult to let someone you love, die,” he answered, nearly whispering his words.

She didn't answer, and neither did he get to ask her about anything else at the moment as he heard the deliberate tread of footsteps coming down the hall. He looked up to see Bucky approaching, sniper rifle held and slung casually forward against his kevlar vest, very reminiscent of his usual casual but alert stance during the war. However, Bucky didn't stop at the table and passed it, strolling across the common area to where Fitz and Barnes were.

Steve saw Barnes frown, as Bucky approached, while Fitz merely turned his head ever so slightly. However, Bucky stayed well away from the young agent's line of sight, as if he was _stalking_ a prey in a most unusual manner. Suddenly, he saw him extend his metal hand out and flicked his thumb and index fingers right on the back of the young man's crown. Fitz rocked forward for a moment, loudly groaning in pain.

“Bucky!” he exclaimed, at the same time his counterpart did as well, baffled as to why Bucky would do such a thing. It didn't help that Barnes had the most mild of expressions on his face, as Bucky turned and merely held up his index and middle finger in the numerical gesture for two. “What?” he asked, confused.

“You did it to me twice, Steve,” he heard him say as Bucky glanced down, only to see Barnes shake his head, indicating that whatever Bucky had tried to do, it didn't work. “Cognitive recalibration,” Bucky followed up a moment later.

Steve frowned, but didn't argue the explanation, even though he did disagree with the reasoning behind it. He knew exactly which two incidents Bucky was talking about when he had hit his head and began to remember who he really was. The first one was a combination of several punches that he really had not wanted to unleash, and the second was at the Berlin Interpol station – courtesy of a helicopter.

“That still--” he began, but was cut off when the young man suddenly barked in laughter.

“An attack dog,” Fitz stated. Though Steve could not see the young man's expression, the tone said it all as he heard him continue to say, “are you that desperate to try to proselytize me to become this person whom doesn't exist? That you had to use an attack dog?”

The young man tried to turn around again to face Bucky, but again, Bucky seemed to melt and move only so much to stay directly behind the line of sight. “You had to use your doppelganger, Agent... no wait, you told me it was Captain about a hour ago. This stick and carrot routine that you're trying to employ will not work, Captain Barnes,” the young man admonished, “and Barnes-doppelganger.”

Steve saw him shift his arms ever so slightly in their bound state, opening his palms as if he were trying to imitate a universal gesture of uncaring apathy. “I have to admit, I did have my suspicions when Captain Rogers stated that he was the only person who had been transported. He was a very generous and tempting bait that was dangled in front of us. But I have to admit, I should've watched you closer, Captain Barnes. You, whom I'm certain scrambled all of my databases, sabotaged my work – work that is supposed to _help_ Humanity! The blood from the chaos that you've will have sown, that's on you.”

He saw Fitz turn his head ever so slightly, not even bothering to attempt to find Bucky, saying, “And you, Barnes-doppelganger, we're not done with you yet, Winter Soldier.”

It was as if time had frozen for that one second as he saw Bucky go still before he started to see his sniper rifle tip begin to drop out and away. “Buck--” Steve began, but didn't get to complete it when the elevator doors abruptly dinged. He and the others turned to see both Tony and Sam emerged from them – the tension in the room immediately vacating into nothingness.

“Oh whoa,” Sam began, taking a step backwards, holding his hands up as Steve saw him focus solely on Barnes. “Dude, what the hell is _he_ doing here?”

“Director, I already told you, he's been cleared,” Tony answered, walking around the table to center himself on the other side.

“Uh...” Sam began, looking quite incredulously at Tony and the rest of them. “No? I want to trust you on this, Tony, but I can't--”

Steve saw Barnes immediately take a piece of cloth, wad it and stuff it into Fitz's mouth before binding it with another strip of cloth, effectively gagging him. However, he was not done as he then stood up, and took the chair that the young man was bound to, and began to drag it towards the table. While Bucky merely glanced over at the noise that was being made before returning to the table, Steve saw Barnes drag the chair with its bound prisoner past the table and to the elevators.

“Is that...?” Sam began, looking at Fitz, shock and horror flitting across his expression. “Holy shit, you guys captured The Doctor?!”

The screeching noise that the legs of the chairs being dragged across the polished floor and into the same elevator that Tony and Sam had emerged from, drowned out whatever else was going to be said. Steve saw Barnes reach over towards where the buttons were and yank on something on the panel, before stepping out and manually pushing the door closed. “Faraday cage,” was all the explanation was given as Barnes rejoined them at the table.

“Is that why you had me drop them off at the rooftop, Stark?” Sam asked, frowning. “Why you wouldn't even tell me who else we picked up besides Stevie and Captain Rogers?”

“Pretty much,” Tony answered, gesturing to the rest of them, looking a little concerned. “He talk? Is he getting better?”

“No,” Barnes answered, folding his arms over his chest. “He decided to use some fucking scare tactics from the story that Rogers gave to Madam Hydra about how SHIELD in his reality fell. Maybe if you hadn't fucked with his head, Stark, I'd be talking to my goddamn engineer and not Mr. Hyde permanently residing in Dr. Jekyll's body.”

“Hey--” Tony began.

“Enough!” Stevie intervened, before an argument could break out by pulling over the schematics that Johnson had brought up. She also called up a few other items that had been uploaded by Sam. The first image displayed was that of a dead body, completely stripped of clothes, with nothing to preserve the dignity that someone in death deserved.

“Monty's body was found early this morning by NYPD,” Tony stated after a moment, still glowering slightly at Barnes, but had cooled down enough to begin the briefing. “He was in an alleyway near one of the underground entrances we use. Coroner has yet to release an official report, but it looks like he was killed elsewhere and then dumped there. Estimated time of death was between 0100 and 0300 yesterday. He was dead even before we realized that he was late calling in.”

“Madam Hydra gave us the data at around 0600,” Barnes spoke up, and though his tone was calm, Steve could hear the underlying fury within it. Another member of Strike Bravo was confirmed dead, and he knew how it felt to lose people to HYDRA as Barnes had had with his team members. “Has the coroner determined how Monty died?” Barnes asked.

“Cardiac arrest,” Tony answered after a moment. “That's prelim though. For all intents and purposes, it looks as if he just dropped dead.”

“Wait,” Johnson said, looking alarmed. “You're not suggesting--”

“Madam Hydra most likely pulled the plug on Monty in the real-world,” Tony finished for her. “And I still can't detect how she's going in and out, even with her apparent system restore.”

“So... none of you think Stark's crazy?” Sam asked, unfolding his arms and letting them hang as he stared at them with a slightly puzzled look. “This 'real-world' thing?”

Silence answered Sam's question, though it was Stevie who broke it, saying, “You're dead in the real-world, Sam. You and Riley both are. You guys died trying to save and extract Strike Delta in the Baltic.”

“Shit,” was all Sam said, looking down at the table. That moment of doubt, of trying to come to terms passed as Steve saw him look back up, determination in his eyes again as he said, “Second chances don't come cheap.” He saw him look over towards both him and Bucky, asking, “Am I still truly alive in your world?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, nodding. “You were...are a part of a global 'ass-kicking and threat defending' team, as you said many times before.”

“Well, nice to know that,” Sam quipped before nodding and erased the image of Monty's dead body from the projection. He brought the map of Manhattan and its surrounding boroughs to the forefront, and highlighted several areas, saying, “We've begun deploying people to these places. All Inhumans that we've been in contact with have already been alerted to HYDRA's advance – they're hunkering down in their shelters, but we don't have enough people to defend them. Fortunately, with the Mayor sympathetic to us, he's already begun to order an evacuation of the city. We're thinking of establishing the upper perimeter at Harlem, trying to centralize and contain the fighting to the lower part of Manhattan.”

The map was manipulated and zoomed out as Sam continued to say, “Riley and his team did a high level recon sweep last night. HYDRA's on the move, and they're already staging at Trenton. We couldn't see what exactly they had for firepower, but it looks as if they're also after something. They're declaring the maneuvers to be a search and rescue operation to justify their movement to civilians.”

“Madam Hydra might need Fitz,” Barnes spoke up, frowning. “Whatever she and Fitz have been building, its not complete yet.”

“But the serum,” Stevie began. “She has the super-soldier blood, the Inhuman databases, what else does she need?” Steve caught her glance over to him, as she continued to say, “You said that he was just running a bunch of simulations. That the formula still has a high probability of death, but it's been going down with each iteration.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though a thought did occur to him as he realized that what he had caught a glimpse of in the brief split-screen of the hard light projections in the labs could be whatever else the leader of HYDRA was researching. “Wait,” he said, flipping over another one of Robin's drawings and took the pen on the table up. Sketching the cylindrical hollow container-like object with its robust stem, he tried to recall the details of what he had seen in that brief instant as best as he could. When he was finished he placed the paper on the table and it was scanned in.

“What the hell?” Johnson exclaimed as the object was projected into a 3D model.

“What's the height, Rogers?” Tony asked as he took the projection and manipulated it this way and that.

“Two or two-and-a-half meters at most?” he answered, shaking his head slightly. “Didn't get a good look at the dimensions, but it did look as if it could fit a person within the cylinder.

“If she's trying to make an augmented super-soldier, it certainly doesn't look like a skeleton of something that could contain VitaRay,” Stevie said.

“It looks like a cryo tube,” Bucky's quiet statement caused silence to fall among them. Steve glanced over at him, worried as he could not even discern what was going on behind the neutral look that Bucky carried across his expression or in his tone. “HYDRA had several of these in many countries, but most of them were centrally located in Soviet territory. They were used to store operatives and ship them across lines without authorities knowing the wiser, to position them in place for activation when needed or when necessary. They looked and emitted the signature of a giant frozen meat locker.”

“Cryo technology here is still in its infant stages,” Barnes stated, frowning as Steve saw him place a hand on his chin, thinking about something. “HYDRA controls both this place and the real-world. They don't have need to cryo their operatives. Why build it?”

“We don't have time to find out,” Stevie declared as Steve saw her wipe the projected drawing away. “As soon as that exit is built, we get the three of you out first before she can pull the plug. The three of us--” she gestured to herself, him, and Bucky “--will be safe. The Zephyr is cloaked, so she can't find us and shoot us down. We'll hold the line, if it comes down to it--”

“Stevie--” he heard Barnes begin to protest.

“Your location may be at Camp Lehigh,” she stated, overriding whatever else he was going to say. “That signal, I ran through it again, and it doesn't make any sense as to why it would transmit until I looked at the date it started transmitting. As soon as we get out, we'll be on our way to give you guys a lift.” She didn't even wait for an acknowledgment from either Barnes or Johnson as she zoomed back into the map, manipulating it so that Liberty State Park, Governors Island, the lower part of Manhattan, and the Brooklyn Heights areas were showing.

“They'll probably use Staten Island as a main staging point,” she continued. “They'll jump and take Governor's Island as a secondary, and strike at Brooklyn and Liberty State Park before pushing their way up Manhattan. We need to draw the line here at the Tower, parallel to everything else.” A rather large, bright marker was drawn across from Just above Weehawken and to just below Hunter's Point. “Sam, you need to direct all of your people to hold the line here. We can't let them flank Manhattan and come down from the north. Stage Harlem as the line and have civilians evac beyond there, but if anything gets through the Tower line, have your people turn it into ash.”

“Got it,” Sam answered.

“We'll help hold the line until we can get Fitz out into the real-world,” she finished up. “We need to cut off her hunt for her asset.”

“Then Sam, you have your people deploy the randomzied vectors that I've programmed into the quinjets,” Tony spoke up. “Get your people out of the line of fire, and leave Madam Hydra to me.”

“Uh... Tony?” Johnson spoke up, looking as puzzled as Steve felt as he too frowned slightly at Tony's words. “Some super secret weapon you've been developing that you didn't want to tell us?”

“Got inspired by his stories,” Tony began, and Steve furrowed his eyebrows slightly as Tony jerked a thumb at him. “I mean, some of them were definitely fantastical, but yeah... got inspired and did a little _digging_.”

For a moment, Steve did not know what Tony was referring to, until it struck him exactly what he implied. “Tony, that... it doesn't exist _here_... does it?”

“No,” Tony answered, shaking his head slightly. “Neither does that tesseract. But who says I can't call an AI's bluff? All I need is one chance to get access to her root system. With her code as fragmented as it is, this will be the only chance I get. All I have to do is permanently shut her down.”

“You're going to need backup, Stark,” Sam said. “I can't let you confront her alone.”

“I won't be,” Tony smiled, though Steve did not like the tightness projected into that smile. It reminded him too much of the flaws that Tony in his reality had – the overconfidence that sometimes made him overreach. “I got two other suits backing me up.”

“Two's not enough,” Sam began.

“Not up for discussion, Director. Your job is to keep the people safe. I got my own beef with Madam Hydra, so drop it,” Tony stated, looking thoroughly annoyed.

“We'll back him up when he confronts Madam Hydra,” Stevie said, before Sam could answer. “We just need to first make sure Fitz gets through first into the real-world, so that she'll not be able to come after him so easily.” She looked around the table, catching all eyes, and Steve couldn't help but feel a kinship of pride with her. Ceding control over leadership and planning of operations wasn't usually his standard unless someone outranked him, but for this, she knew this world, its inhabitants, and its methods better than he did. “Any questions?” she asked.

There was none.

“All right then,” Sam said, nodding towards them. “Good hunting.”

As soon as Sam left via another elevator and not the one that Fitz had been temporarily stored in, Stevie spoke up saying, “We'll need to funnel them through the building if we are to lure Madam Hydra in.” She pulled up a general schematic blueprint of Stark Tower, saying, “Steve and I will take the ground floor. Bucky... uh...” She paused and grimaced slightly as Steve realized that they both called their respective Bucky, Bucky.

“Nomad,” Steve heard Bucky – his Bucky – suddenly say, pointing to himself.

“Okay, I... we can use that,” she said, nodding. “Nomad and Bucky, you're taking the rooftops. Quake, you and Tony stay on the floor where the exit is and keep it clear. Any repairs or any countermeasures that Madam Hydra might deploy to stop that exit from finishing its build needs to be dismantled. As soon as its finished, Quake, you and Fitz go through. Do not wait for any of us. We don't know how Fitz will react on the other side or if you're housed with him, but you'll need to contain him. Tony, call out the percentage to completion and we'll try to sync our retreats to the floor with it.”

“Understood, ma'am,” Johnson answered, curtly nodding.

“I'll have Eeny and Miney backing all of you,” Tony stated, nodding in agreement.

“What's the latest on scans?” she asked.

Johnson pulled forward several still images captured from local street, highway, and building cameras that had been mined by the Resistance, saying, “ETA less than a half-hour until they reach Staten Island, and then most likely another half-hour before they start invading Manhattan, based on the extrapolation algorithms from the basement.”

“That's not a lot of time for civilians the evacuate,” Steve spoke up, concerned.

“They were already evacuating,” Tony stated. “At least the ones that are HYDRA-affiliated and purposely dropped into the Framework for training. They're already all trying to get out of here through whatever Madam Hydra is offering them, and gumming up the network. It's helped mask the exit on the floor, but with HYDRA already disabling the other exits to prevent their prisoners in the Framework from leaving, we've told the others to evac as far north as possible. One hour is not much, but it's all we can give, given the network traffic being as slow as molasses.”

He nodded in understanding, even though it was painful to hear that potentially all of the prisoners that were undergoing HYDRA brainwashing could potentially be erased with this full reset or wipe of the system. He knew it was unfeasible to get every person out, even more so because of the control that Madam Hydra had over the entire Framework. He knew that they were extremely lucky that their secret exit had not been detected yet, and when the fight finally arrived, keeping that from being detected and erased was going to be extremely difficult.

“One last thing,” Stevie said, catching his and Bucky's eyes. She pointed at Bucky's metal arm, saying, “You're not going to have that when you get out of the Framework. Everything that was added or used in here will not come out with you once you exit, so... I'm sorry.”

Though he saw Bucky nod, Steve couldn't help but feel some despair. Not only would Bucky's phantom limb pain flare up upon his exiting, but the journal would not go with him either. Even though there had been some inkling of a reassuring tone in Bucky's words about the fact that he didn't need the journal that had been written in here, Steve was worried. He reached out and placed a hand on his best friend's shoulder, squeezing it briefly as he said, “We'll deal with it.”

He let go a few seconds later, rubbing his eyes with his fingers as the lights were brought back up and the projector dimmed. Though he didn't have a headache, he was still a little tired from the lack of good sleep he had had in the past couple of weeks – both in the real-world of his reality, and here. However, the anticipation of a battle happening was more than enough to keep him alert and awake.

As Tony and Johnson headed to the elevator that contained Fitz, he saw Bucky and Bucky's counterpart head to another elevator, most likely to stock up on ammunition and other armaments they needed for their rooftop position. If it were any other group or situation, he knew that there would have been some acknowledgments or words of encouragement, but there wasn't between the six of them. Tony was an AI and would constantly be present in all groups, monitoring the situation while detailing the troop disbursement. Johnson, though initially civilian, had been thoroughly trained by SHIELD and behaved as veteran operative in the field – she had a task and she was going to carry it out to the best of her abilities. He and the others, they were military veterans, but they knew each other well enough that the words to 'take care and don't do anything risky' needn't be said. They were all reckless in one way or another, and Steve knew that it was not a fault any of them would ever admit out loud.

It was only when both elevators' doors closed and began to whisk the others down that he heard Stevie ask, “Which one do you want, Steve?”

He turned slightly to see her gesturing to the shields resting against the chair. “Silver one,” he said. “I...I can't wield the red-white-blue one,” he quietly admitted. “Not after what I did to Tony in my reality...”

He saw her nod as she solemnly said, “I understand. That silver-and-red scheme... judging by the way you reacted when you first saw it, and the silver stump I saw on Bucky when I first met the two of you, he had that scheme on his metal arm, didn't he?”

“Yeah,” he answered, unable to keep the bitterness and anger out of his tone. “The Soviets... HYDRA branded him as someone would brand a livestock. It's how his reputation as the Winter Soldier was cultivated – he was only known by that silver-and-red branding on his arm. A ghost in the Intelligence community, is what my reality's Natasha claimed him to be.”

“Then lets take that fear back from HYDRA, shall we?” she said smiling, picking up her shield and hooked it on her back.

Steve couldn't help but smile as well as he took up the silver-and-red shield and hooked it on his back as well. “They're definitely messing with the wrong people.”

“Captain America,” she said, her smile wide as she raised her hand in a fist, to which he reciprocated the action by bumping his own fist into hers. “Truth, justice, and freedom for all.”

He laughed, his spirits lifted as he followed her into the elevator. They were whisked down, but as soon as the doors opened to the lobby and they exited, they saw the most unusual of things: Tony sending one of his luxury cars up a cargo elevator on the far side of the lobby. “Tony?” Stevie questioned as the AI saw them and headed over, already wearing his Iron Man suit sans helmet.

“You should ask Barnes, either one of them, about the cars they want up there,” Tony stated, shrugging slightly before saying, “oh, and yeah...” It was strange, seeing Tony manifest two blue balaclava-like hard helmets that left the lower half of their jaws exposed, out of the middle of thin air. Handing it to them, the AI continued to say, “Here you go, com systems wired and encrypted, and there's HUDs built into them so you can differentiate between actual HYDRA operative in the Framework and code. Double-oh-Six, Nomad, and Quake got 'nifty shades', as Quake so elegantly put it.”

“Uh, thanks,” he said, taking the helmet and gingerly placed it on. Immediately he could hear Johnson grumbling slightly as he heard the faint screech of a chair being dragged across the polished floor of the twenty-third level of the building. There were also some faint murmurs coming from Barnes over the com as he and Bucky were maneuvering the vehicle that Tony had just delivered to the roof for them, somewhere on the roof.

“Thanks, Tony,” he heard Stevie answer.

He turned and walked away to give her and Tony some privacy – a moment of peace before the battle was to commence. Though nothing had been discussed with regards to the potential destruction of the Framework, the fact that it seemed that nothing had been found on the actual location of the servers seemed to have granted Tony a stay of execution. However, Steve was a little concerned with regards to the gamble that Tony wanted to implement to take control or destroy Madam Hydra via a bluff on the yellow stone. He had not asked how Tony was going to implement such a gamble, and neither did the others – hoping and trusting that the AI knew what he was doing.

“Damn, I can't believe that Stark agreed to let us destroy his Murcielago, Aventador, Diablo, Countach, and Miura,” he heard Sam exclaim over the connected com. “They're definitely not going to see these coming.”

“So, watch out below?” he questioned over the com, tapping his right ear once to enable it, as it lit up on the upper right hand corner of his HUD.

“Hell yeah, Cap,” Sam answered. “Speaking of which, how are we supposed to differentiate between the two of you Captain Rogers?”

“Just call me Steve,” he answered, grinning slightly, even though he knew that Sam couldn't see it.

“And Stevie for me, Falcon,” he heard Stevie answer and turned slightly to see her give Tony a silent peck on the cheek before running up to catch up with him.

Together the two of them exited the lobby, and took up positions on either side of the front of the building. Several clusters of Resistance members were already in position, just as Riley called out over the com, “Incoming. Landing confirmed, and they're already starting to make their way up, fast. We're pulling back through the routes, trying to funnel them as best as we can. They're mostly carrying your regular firearms, but there's a couple of small tank-like amphibious vehicles that I don't recognize. The gun on those things are also glowing blue.”

“Copy, Redwing,” Tony stated. “Those are the weapons that can vaporize according to Steve's intel. Stay clear of them if you can. I'll see if Eeny and Miney can destroy them--”

“Nomad and I have had experience with them,” he cut in, heading forward down Park Avenue while taking his shield off of his back and hooking his right arm into the straps. “Leave them to us. We'll dust them.” As confident as his words were over the com, he silently hoped that Bucky had regained enough of his memories to remember some of what they had done against HYDRA during the war.

“Quinjets enroute,” he heard Barnes state. “Squadron of six--”

The boom was louder than expected, especially since it was amplified over the com. However, as Steve briefly looked up, the buildings surrounding Stark Tower were tall enough that he couldn't even see a residual smoke puff in what sky was showing. “Okay, all six just smashed into a transparent shield near 23rd.”

“That'd be me,” Johnson stated, and Steve could swear that he could see her grinning over the com, her rapid typing on her laptop incredibly faint. “I'll hold the shield for as long as possible, try to help funnel them.”

“Monolith at 85 percent,” Tony stated, calling out the percentage to completion of the exit.

“Open a corridor for Park Ave, Quake,” Stevie ordered, just as Steve saw the beginnings of a black-fatigued wave of soldiers approaching down the avenue.

“Copy,” she crisply answered.

There was a faint shimmer in the air and just as the wave of black soldiers crested, Steve charged forward. Bullets pinged off of his shield leading the way, as he scanned the HUD and angled his shield just enough to reflect the bullets into those marked as pure code. Just before he crashed into the wave, several code soldiers near him collapsed into boneless heaps, sniped by Bucky. It gave him just enough room to draw his arm back and throw his shield into several soldiers.

Launching himself at a non-code soldier, he punched the soldier in the stomach, folding her and knocking her unconscious as he leapt and kicked at another one. Retrieving the shield as it flew back towards him, he snapped his shield arm towards two more soldiers, knocking them back and out towards the ground, as he spotted the first of the amphibious tanks bearing the tesseract weapons. Three more soldiers fell around him as he continued to make his way towards the tank, punching left and right to try to get his path as clear as possible.

The tank fired its weapon at him, but he turtled behind the shield for a moment, digging his heels into the ground as he felt the force of the impact rattle him. Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward with all of his strength as the pulsating blasts tried to arrest his movement. However, the gunner seemed incredibly desperate to stop him, as each impact seemed to be less and less than the initial blast. That allowed him to gain enough momentum for him to run nearly full tilt into and up the tank. He grabbed the barrel as he flipped and arced over, and heaved, ripping the barrel from its window, exposing the core.

Letting the twisted piece of metal go as he twisted and curled behind his shield, the shot from Bucky's sniper rifle came not a split second later. It ignited the core and the blast not only sent him rocketing back and bowling over several soldiers, but also flattened and concussed those in a fairly large radius. Steve could feel the acute sharp pain radiate up his back, his padded and reinforced impact-resistance uniform not enough to dampen his impact against something metal and hard.

Stars exploded in his eyes as he fought to keep awake, to force himself to stay alert as he rapidly blinked and shook his head. Climbing out of the crater he had made against another tesseract tank, it seemed that being entirely ballistic for a brief moment was enough to crush and crumple the tank so that the weapon was quite dead and destroyed. Bringing his shield down on instinct, a volley of bullets from the next wave that hadn't been knocked down, impacted his shield.

“Echo and Foxtrot teams, scatter – look out below!” he barely heard Sam state over the com.

The whine and familiar sounds of repulsor blasts from one of Tony's extra suits drove his attackers away, and a couple of more _thonk-thonk_ of Stevie's shield gave them a brief moment to breathe. Steve readjusted his grip on his shield, taking that moment to quickly assess his surroundings, just as he heard Tony say, “90 percent.”

“Target on the field,” he heard the detached, almost monotone declaration from Bucky through the com. “Just past 23rd. I have a shot.”

“Take it and fragment her code some more,” Tony said. “That'll get her pissed enough to come after us.”

There was a moment's pause, in which Steve had thrown his shield once again and leapt up to plant an overhead punch on a non-code soldier who had managed to yank his buddy in front of him to take the shield impact. Just as he landed and knocked the soldier out, he heard Bucky say, “Skin and bones now.”

“She's a fucking zombie, but yeah, she's pissed off,” he heard Barnes follow up.

“Fall back,” Stevie ordered. “All teams, fall back, take it floor by floor. Falcon, take your people and begin evac. We got her in the trap now.”

“Copy. Thanks for all the fish, Murcielago, Aventador, Diablo, and Countach,” Sam acknolwedged.

Though both he, Stevie, and the spare Iron Man suit being controlled by Tony continued to punch and blast their way through the soldiers, Steve made sure that he was slowly pulling back, not trying to advance ground. He couldn't anyways, as he could feel his strength begin to ebb, and needed to save it to put up as good of a convincing fight as possible through twenty-two floors. He made use of the fact that two more tesseract tanks had rolled up, using the forceful impacts of their shots against his shield as an excuse to continue to fall back.

As he stepped through a shattered window on the ground floor, he saw Stevie shift and begin to retreat towards the stairwell. All elevators looked as if they had been either destroyed by Tony, or by the reflected impacts of bullets or grenades. Unlike the Triskelion, the stairwell looked to be reinforced and not quite centralized to the elevator columns, which meant that any opportunistic quinjet was not going to be able to shoot at them.

Flipping his shield to his left arm, he flung that to the side, just as he saw three grenades fly at him. They were deflected as he brought his arm up, blocking the overhead strike with a rifle that a soldier tried to do. The grenades detonated, raining shrapnel in the air as he swung his shield towards the soldier, hitting and flinging her to the side, just as he began to step up and back on the staircase.

“Tony, she's trying to repair the elevators!” Stevie's words briefly drew his attention as he climbed backwards to the first landing, only to see the black-fatigued soldiers part ever so slightly to allow their leader to enter into the lobby.

He could help but gape in horror for a brief moment as he saw that Bucky's description about Madam Hydra was quite accurate: she was just skin and bones. In addition to the head wound she still sported, there were two massive holes in the middle of her body, dripping blood and exposing organs and bones that should not have been normally seen. Yet she was still walking, with her arm extended out towards the elevators.

“Shit, I'm trying to hold her back--” Tony began. “We're only at 95 percent!”

“Consolidate and hold the floor, Tony,” Stevie stated. “Nomad and Bucky, get your ass down to the floor and hold position. Quake, shrink that shield. Steve and I will be right up.”

“Copy,” Quake answered.

“We're on our way,” he heard Barnes acknowledge.

Steve felt the tap on his shoulder from her and nodded in acknowledgment. With Madam Hydra inflicting an enormous amount of control over the Framework, versus Tony's grasp, even in his base of operations, there could be no telling how fast the enemy AI would be able to overpower Tony's defenses set among and in the Tower. The best they could do now was to hold the floor where their exit was until it was built and get at least Fitz, Quake, and Barnes out first.

Both of them gave one last heave against the surge of soldiers attempting to climb the stairs. It was enough to start a slight bowling effect, but that was all either of the needed, as the spare Iron Man suit that had been aiding them stepped in to hold the horde back for a moment. Sprinting as fast as he could, both he and Stevie pounded up, leaping five or six steps up as they ran. He could hear and feel the thunderous vibration of a massive amount of HYDRA soldiers coming up after them, but didn't dare glance back to see where they were in the stairwell.

The occasional short burst of bullets followed them up, and both of them brought their shields up to deflect the strays. As they finally charged out into the 23rd floor of Stark Tower, he saw their two Bucky also emerge from the other side of their flight down to this floor. He turned back, seeing the air shimmer behind him, just as the first of the black-fatigued soldiers slammed into the condensed shield. Backing away, though he still held his shield defensively against him, he looked back to see that the monolith exit was all but complete.

“98 percent,” he heard Tony croak, and looked over to where he was, crouched and with a hand on the floor, situated near the exit. Johnson was standing next to the exit, with a firm grip on the still-gagged and bound Fitz, who was no longer confined to the chair.

“Tony!” Stevie exclaimed, hurrying over.

“Don't!” Tony said, managing to look up, with rivulets of sweat dripping down his face. His expression was contorted between that of anger and intense concentration, as Steve realized that it was taking all of the AI's power and concentration to keep this floor from being overrun. Whatever else he was going to say never manifested as the ding of the lone elevator on the floor sounded, and its doors opened.

Madam Hydra tried to emerge from the elevator, but the semi-transparent shield was still in place. He saw her place a hand on the shield and begin to press. The light emitting from her forceful push against it was not bright, but it was concerning as Steve backed up, bringing his shield fully in front of him as he angled himself to protect Tony on his left. Stevie had taken up position on Tony's right, as the soldiers pressed themselves against the shield on either side of the stairwells' exits. Bucky and Bucky's counterpart had taken up position near Johnson and the exit, though it was Barnes who stood next to him, while Bucky stood next to Stevie.

The seconds, the minutes, passed, and the pressure that HYDRA was exerting against the shield grew more and more. Just as Steve thought that the shield could not take any more, Tony managed to say, “Go!”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve saw Johnson and Fitz immediately disappear into the black monolith. The shield around the floor started to shrink, as he saw that Barnes was not moving. “Move it, soldier!” he stated to him, reaching out and grabbing him by his sleeve, shoving him back. Fortunately, he didn't have to do much, as Barnes was the next to disappear. That was quickly followed by him hearing Stevie yelp, as he turned ever so slightly to see her being _thrown_ into the exit by Bucky. Bucky had picked her up using his mechanical arm by grasping the back of her uniform.

“Thank you,” he heard Tony say, relief evident in his tone, even though it was extremely strained.

“Don't dawdle, Steve,” he heard Bucky state, catching his eyes with his own, filled with expectation and something else that he couldn't quite identify at the moment. He saw him step through, and then it was just him and Tony, and the slow advancement of Madam Hydra and her soldiers.

“You've done enough, Rogers,” he heard Tony say, and glanced down over to see him slowly stand. He still looked awful, pale, and in pain, but there was a familiar determination, the same stubbornness that he had seen countless of times in his reality's Tony's eyes, reflected in the AI. “It's my turn now.”

“Thank you, Tony,” he said, nodding and knowing that there was no more he could do to aid Tony – this was the endgame. “Good luck.”

He took a step back and into the exit.

* * *

Bucky involuntarily gasped for air before he forced his eyes to open. Then came the extremely rubbery, dizzy feeling that slammed into him, as if he were being tossed more violently side to side than any fairground ride at Coney Island. Everything he saw was blurry as he felt himself slipping down a slab, his legs not obeying what his mind was commanding them to do. He managed to get his arms somewhat working as he halted his stumbling slide down--

Shock was what made him fully snap out of his confusion as he blinked his eyes clear of the blurriness and looked over to see that there was a black, sleekly metal arm grafted to him. He was bracing himself and his rubbery legs between two operating-table like slab that had been raised almost 90 degrees from its horizontal position. His _arms_... he had arms, and he didn't know where the hell the metal arm came from.

It was Rogers' forceful cough above him, half standing or lying against the board side of the slab next to where he had been, that broke him out of his shock. There was a strange cage-like helmet on Rogers' head, and he belatedly realized that a similar thing was on his own. He willed himself to stand, to at least force his legs to obey him, yanking the cage-like thing off of his head and tossing it to the side. Yanking the IV needle that had been taped around his flesh arm out, he briefly pressed his metal fingers against the area where the needle had been before releasing the hold and managed to catch Rogers from falling into a heap as he woke up.

“I got you, Steve,” he said, adjusting his grip on Rogers by holding him up from under his arms.

“Ugh,” was all Rogers uttered as he saw him trying to get his bearings, blinking rapidly to try to clear his eyes. Rogers then suddenly went still, and for a moment, Bucky was half-afraid that he had gone into cardiac arrest. That moment of panic was alleviated when he heard him ask in a half-incredulous, half-afraid tone, “Bucky.... why do you have _two_ arms?”

“Hell if I know,” he managed to say as Rogers twisted around, forcing himself just like he did, to try to stand on his own two feet, as he too, removed the IV needle from his right arm.

He slowly let Rogers go as he saw his eyes roam up and down the metal arm, looking very concerned. “I thought Tony and the others explicitly stated that anything added in there wasn't supposed to come out.”

“Well, you're not deaf,” he agreed.

There was nothing to be done about it though, as the metal arm reacted to his commands, including the minute curling and uncurling of his fingers. He stepped away, looking around the strange area that looked like a converted bunker of sorts. There were several other slabs lined up in a row next to the ones both he and Rogers had been standing or lying in, situated in the same near-90 degree angle. They were all empty, as he glanced over to see Rogers remove the cage-like thing that had been on his head and examine it closely.

Ignoring whatever else Rogers was doing, he continued to walk around, trying to get his legs to work as they should. He was still dressed in what he had been wearing during the fight in the silo, as was Rogers – complete with the small rips and tears in his uniform. There was still the distinct smell of ozone, and of a burnt scent upon him and Rogers – as if they had just emerged from the fight with Stark and from a burning silo. But the room they were in – if it could be called that, was only filled with those slabs, the two hanging bags of saline and nutrients that had kept them alive in the Framework, and a couple of carts that contained nothing but gauze pads, medical tape, and some pills. There was not even a scalpel.

He didn't want to approach the opening at the far end of the room without something to defend himself with other than his fists, as his sense of danger, the whispered fragments of the Winter Soldier within him cautioning him. He heard the sound of something being smacked into something else behind him and turned slightly to see that Rogers had most likely applied some percussive maintenance to a screen panel that was fizzling.

His apprehension and sense of danger towards the open doorway or whatever it was that adjoined this room to whatever else was out there spiked as he heard faint, almost indistinguishable sounds of feet on the metal floor approaching. He held up a fist, hearing Rogers fall silent, before uncurling three fingers to indicate the number of pairs he heard. Pressing himself against the closest wall to the opening, he held out his metal arm to prevent Rogers from stepping forward to take up position in front of him.

It was not just his instincts and the annoyance that he felt that Rogers had almost no sense of self-preservation, but also the fact that at this very moment, his metal arm was the only thing that could block bullets. He wasn't sure what exactly was the metal, but considering the odds, he had to say that it was most likely vibranium. As soon as Rogers settled beside him, pressed flat against the wall as he now was, he drew his metal arm forward, hands curled into fists and ready to strike--

He lashed out with his metal fist, stepping into the attack with all of his weight behind it, just as the first pair of feet stepped past the threshold—and arrested his movement just as the beginnings of a forceful ringing blast struck his outstretched fist and arm. His eyes widened of their own accord as the first pairs of feet belong to none other than Johnson. The agent was dressed in grey loose pants and long-sleeved shirt, with her arms outstretched in a defensive maneuver, and fingers splayed in the middle of unleashing her powers.

“Quake?!” Steve exclaimed as the ringing subsided, and Bucky took a step back, lowering his arms and fists only somewhat.

“W-what... what the hell are you guys doing here?” Johnson asked, looking as confused as Bucky felt, as two more pairs of feet entered the chamber.

Those pairs belong to none other than his counterpart, and the young man that everyone referred to as Agent Fitz. His counterpart and Agent Fitz were wearing similar outfits to what Johnson was wearing; all three were also completely bare footed. Rather than the haughty look that he had seen permanently etched on Agent Fitz's face in the Framework, there was a scared, uneasy look on him. Neither were armed with guns, though somewhere, somehow, his counterpart had found a scalpel, but Bucky couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive whenever his eyes passed over Agent Fitz.

“Didn't Stevie say that both of you were on the Zephyr?” his counterpart asked.

“If we're here, are we still in the Framework? Did we really exit?” Steve immediately countered.

“Uh, yeah,” Johnson answered, as she jerked her thumb back towards Agent Fitz, saying, “he's acting a little odd, a little scared, but definitely not like his persona in the Framework. His confusion at the moment could be the result of the life he had in the Framework overlaid on reality.”

“Whatever I said in there to either of you, I am so, so sorry,” he heard Agent Fitz speak up, looking quite apologetic and wide-eyed at both of them. The young man then winced, pressing the base of his right hand to his head, before looking back up, trying to shake his headache.

Despite Johnson's words and even the young man's own, Bucky still did not feel his small sense of apprehension fading away. Yet there was nothing in his counterpart's expression of stance to say anything untoward to Agent Fitz. He tried to tuck away the unease, to put it to the side, as he heard Steve ask, “So Director Coulson didn't bring us to your reality?”

“Hell,” he saw his counterpart shake his head. “Doesn't matter at the moment. We're out, and these walls definitely look like they were built to withstand several thousand pounds of pressure. I'm hazarding a guess that either we're still underwater in the Aral Sea, or we're truly in an underground bunker in the middle of Camp Lehigh in New Jersey. We need to find a way out.”

“Wait,” Johnson said, looking a little concerned, as he saw her point to his metal arm. “You came into the Framework without a metal arm, Sarge. How the hell do you have one now?”

“Woke up with it,” he said, raising his metal hand slightly and flexed it, as he remembered something that Stark had said that was unique to the arm. He had never used it, at least not the Framework, but if this arm truly was grafted onto him _from_ the Framework... Curling his fingers into a fist, the quiet _snickt_ of a black, flat blade emerging from the palm side of his wrist told him everything.

“Whoa, shit,” Johnson stated as he retracted the wrist blade. “That's definitely Tony's Ferrari arm. What the hell?”

“Escape first, question later,” he heard his counterpart order.

He agreed with the sentiment – now was not the time to question how and why – and immediately stepped forward, passing by the others before even his counterpart or Johnson could take point. At this very moment, he was the only one truly armed, and thus if they were to find a way out of this unknown place, he needed to be the first to encounter and neutralize any threats. It was a little difficult to tell, considering the overwhelming smell of fire smoke on him, but there was a very subtle cleaner-smelling air as he continued down the direction he had heard the three come from.

Clean air meant outflow, and outflow meant a potential exit.

Johnson shadowed him, and even though he could briefly feel Rogers' disapproving eyes on him, it quickly faded away as Rogers took up the rear of their motley group. His tread on the metal grating of a floor was masked, even with his boots pressing down on it, but he could hear the soft treading of Johnson behind him – she was not trained to walk silently on any sort of surface. She could easily give away their presence, but considering that Agent Fitz was definitely not attempting to mask his own uneven footsteps, he considered their presence already being broadcast. It was now just a matter of time before they encountered the first of those HYDRA personnel who guarded this place.

As they approached the end of the long corridor that curved 90 degrees, he pressed himself up against the edge of the slightly curved metal wall. The others halted in their tracks, and the footsteps told him that they were at least doing the same as he had done. Listening carefully, he could not hear anything in the adjacent corridor, and risked peeking out.

It was empty, but there were several adjoining corridors down this new avenue. That was going to be a snag, as they could not hide, wait, and clear each one fast enough without bumping into someone. They also needed to arm themselves, and now was a better time than ever to do so before they encountered more. Holding up his hand for the rest to wait he slipped out of hiding and quietly approached the first intersection on his right.

He didn't have to wait long as the audible sounds of a pair of boots on the grating signaled the approach of a soldier. There was no other sound coming from that corridor, and thus, he knew that it was safe to immediately lunge in, snatching the soldier back towards him with his flesh arm, even before the soldier's feet had completely cleared the threshold. Whipping and twirling the disoriented soldier into him, he wrapped his flesh arm across the soldier's neck and pressed the underside of his metal wrist against the man's neck. The black flat blade slammed into flesh and across, spurting blood out from both ends of the fatal wound, as he felt the soldier suddenly sag without a sound.

Ripping his metal arm away, he didn't bother shaking the blood out and away, as the blade retracted. He shifted his grip and quickly dragged the soldier back by the tactical vest around the corner, dumping the body rather unceremoniously onto the floor. He could feel Rogers' eyes on him for a moment before his counterpart and Johnson immediately diverted that attention by pouncing on the weaponry that the soldier was carrying. He knew that Rogers was silently admonishing him for having killed a person, rather than simply knock the soldier out, but he didn't care at the moment. This was HYDRA, even in another reality, and they had ruined his life; they would have their own weapon turned against them.

Returning around the bend, he returned to the first intersection and peeked out. There was no one else down that corridor. He continued on, cautiously at first, but the sound of multiple pairs of boots pounding down the next corridor erased any pretense for stealth. Bucky responded to the approach by charging and ramming into the first soldier, metal arm curled and fist leading the way. The blade within the arm ejected and sliced up through flesh and bone as he applied full power to the arm. It also sliced through the tactical vest, enabling him to easily pluck and rip off the soldier's rifle with his flesh hand.

Turning the dying soldier's body around, as the metal blade retracted, he fired off a short burst right at the unprotected collarbone area of the soldier who had followed her buddy. She fell, just as a few stray bullets from her reactionary grip on her rifle punctured the dead soldier he was holding, but more were coming down the same corridor. He could hear more boots pounding on the grating, coming from the other side and made the decision to continue down the corridor he had stepped into.

Dropping the dead body, he brought the rifle up into a two-handed grip and methodically fired in short bursts in an arc, causing the incoming soldiers to scatter for cover. He ducked into an alcove just as bullets peppered the air where he had been. There wasn't a lot of bullets left in his rifle, but considering the trajectories in which he was being fired upon, it pinpointed the direction he needed to go, in order to neutralize the threats.

Just as he heard a brief break in the hail to his right, he ducked out, raising his metal arm in front of him to deflect the incoming bullets as he charged to his left. Slamming into the soldier, he pressed the muzzle of his rifle against the area where the vest did not cover the torso and emptied the rest of the clip. Just as the soldier began to sag to the ground, he dropped the rifle, and plucked the sidearm of the soldier out of its holster.

Turning, he pointed and shot at the soldier up towards his right, who had paused to reload. This close in range, the bullet passed completely through the soldier's neck. Raising his arm again to deflect another burst, he lowered it just enough to sight and aim his gun at the next soldier. Two shots, one at the left kneecap and the other ripping straight across cheek to cheek, as the soldier collapsed from the kneecap wound, was all that was needed to down that soldier.

The final one in this corridor forced him back into one of the alcoves that had been used by the other three, as she engaged in a spray-and-pray blast of her rifle. While distracting and very much lethal if he stepped out now, five seconds was all he needed to wait for, for her clip to empty out. He didn't have to wait a second longer than those five, as he heard her hurriedly eject her spent clip, fumbling for a new one. However, before he could step out and kill her with a single shot, a familiar ringing sound blasted across his ears as he saw the air in the corridor waver for a few seconds.

He stepped out to see her fly back, crashing into a wall and folding in half in an unnatural angle – her spine was broken. “Can't let you have all the fun, Sarge,” he heard Johnson say as he turned to see her standing at the end of the corridor, her right hand outstretched. That stance was held for only a brief moment before she winced and lowered it, shaking her arm out. He surmised that she had once again, fractured or was near fracturing her bones with the free and unconstrained usage of her powers.

The echoes of gunfire continuing down the corridor caught both of their attention, as he bent down and picked up another rifle and a couple of clips, discarding the handgun. Rejoining the others in the main corridor as the last of the soldiers in this area fell down dead, he saw his counterpart gesture for them to move out and continue on their way. He noticed that Rogers was holding a handgun, and it had been fired, but Rogers did not look happy. There were no words that Bucky could say, or even remembered anything from the fragments, to alleviate whatever was going through Rogers' head at the moment. He knew that Rogers had killed during the war, even though he had been the 'shining beacon of hope' for propaganda back home. What Bucky didn't understand at the moment was why Rogers was being somewhat pacifistic against HYDRA of all people.

Deciding to leave it alone for now, he rejoined his counterpart at the front, both of them taking point as they continued down the corridor. It remained empty until they reached the end of it with a rather heavy steel wheel-locked door stood in their way. There was nothing else to do and so with his metal hand he grasped the wheel lock and began to rotate it. As soon as it clicked free, he saw his counterpart and Rogers take up covering positions. Yanking the door open, it didn't even open more than a sliver before the buzzing sound of gunfire filled the air.

Immediately pushing the door close before the ricochet could hit either his counterpart or Rogers, it didn't need to be said – there were a lot of enemy soldiers beyond that door. “Is there another way out, Quake?” he heard his counterpart ask, as the sounds of gunfire died.

He turned his head slightly to his left to see that Johnson had rummaged through the vest of a dead soldier and fished out what looked to be a mini tablet. She had activated it and was manipulating something on the screen. However, she didn't get to answer her commander when shouts and more boots on the grates began to echo throughout the area again. They were about to be surrounded both front and back.

Just as he raised his rifle at the ready position, there was the faintest of a buzzing sound. Not the usual sounds of gunfire, but a popping, almost storm-like. It sounded like the hum that a florescent light bulb about to die made, and through the steel door, it was getting louder. “What the hell?” he couldn't help but say as he turned towards the steel door, his rifle tip pointed at the center of it.

A sudden, clearly audible thump against the door silenced the strange noise, as a moment later, a feminine voice shouted from the other side of the door, “Oly oly oxen free.”

“Backup,” he heard his counterpart state, and though he wasn't entirely trusting of that, he could see the truth in his counterpart's eyes. Stepping forward, he yanked the door open, and this time, no hail of gunfire rained down on the steel door. Instead, as he stepped back, as he heard his counterpart question, “Carter?”

At the same time, Rogers had said, “Sharon?”

“Who the hell are you?” came the rather vicious reply.

Bucky stepped out from behind the steel door, only to see the fair-haired woman who had helped get their gear back before the fight at the Berlin Airport – the kiss she shared with Rogers not withstanding – look at them with confusion etched upon her face. However, the rifle in her hands did not waver. Two people were flanking her, a black man carrying an even higher-powered rifle than Sharon Carter, and a Caucasian-looking one who had a slightly narrow face, but a kind but firm expression. It certainly caused a slight dissonance when he looked at the rifle in the agent's hands.

“Lincoln!” he heard Johnson exclaim as he glanced back to see her rush up, smiling in relief as she pushed through her commander, Carter, and Rogers to give the Caucasian man a hug. There was something intensely personal and affectionate about that hug, as Bucky realized that perhaps the agent named Lincoln was the 'boyfriend' that Johnson had briefly mentioned.

“Aw, and I don't get one, Daisy?” the black man stated, grinning.

“Sure, why not, Trip,” she said after letting go and stepping back. Instead of hugging the black man, she merely gave him a friendly punch in the arm, much to his humorous dismay.

“0-8-4,” he heard his counterpart state, gesturing to both him and Rogers. “Bobbi and Monty are dead. Let's move.”

“Copy that,” she crisply answered, giving no sign of any sort of grief or shock processing through her, as the other two of her team turned around, taking point.

Bucky waited, as his counterpart took the lead, following Carter. Rogers followed behind, and both Johnson and Agent Fitz were the last to leave before he took up the rear. The sounds coming down the corridor were getting louder as he stepped through and into the next section of the area. They were on a narrow walkway that hugged the walls of this enormous cavern. A hole, about thirty-meters wide and seemingly endless in depth, was below them. Center of the walkway they were on, on the far side, was an industrial elevator shaft – their exit. He managed to yank the door close, just as the beginnings of gunfire peppered the door.

“Antoine Triplett, Lincoln Campbell, and Sharon Carter,” he heard and saw Carter gesture to the two others of her team, in a quick introduction towards Rogers and him. “It seems you already know me, though.”

“Yeah...” he heard Rogers say, but did not state anything else to elaborate on the confirmation. “Steve Rogers. Bucky's watching our six.”

As the group hurried along the narrow walkway, he tuned out whatever else was being said at the moment, as he looked around to see that other walkways above and across the cavern had contained formerly living soldiers. Most of their bodies were smoking, but it didn't look like the high-powered rifles that Carter's team carried had caused the smoke. Still, he turned and walked backwards, waiting for the first of the soldiers pursuing them to get through that steel door.

“Where's Stevie? She told us that her team was enroute to here,” he heard his counterpart ask.

“Director Coulson sent a burst transmission from the other side of the world,” Carter answered. “Didn't think that HYDRA would have planted you guys in New Jersey, of all places.”

“So we're in Camp Lehigh?” Johnson asked.

“What's left of it, about a hundred feet underground... that giant maw below us not withstanding. How'd you know?”

“Signal leakage,” was all Johnson got to say before the steel door that they had emerged from was blew outwards.

“I got this, go!” he heard Campbell declare. Declaration or not, Bucky felt that it was his responsibility, as the one covering the group's rear, to continue to do so.

However, before he could pull the trigger, he heard Johnson say, “Sarge, move! You're in Lincoln's line of fire!”

He turned ever so slightly, and found it extremely strange to see Campbell not even bringing his rifle up, and instead, had his hands splayed out in a similar manner that he had seen Johnson do. The agent was an Inhuman, and it was only when he started seeing something glow bright white at the tips of Campbell's fingers that he fully turned and ran out of the way. An audible, high-pitched _bzzt_ noise sang through the air, as he saw lightning fly out of the Inhuman agent's hands. The forked electricity played all over the air, but the target struck was dead true.

The steel door exploded into a shower of burnt and crumpled metal, and the walkway below that was wrenched and burned from its support structure. Soldiers piling out fell into the abyss, the echoes of their screams and gunfire fading into the darkness. The lightning display only lasted for about ten seconds, but it was enough to stop the rest of HYDRA from coming out of that area.

As Bucky joined the others at the industrial elevator and it began to lift them up and out of this infernal place, he saw Johnson discreetly place a comforting hand on Campbell's shoulder. There was barely a discernible but uncomfortable look on Campbell's expression. He realized that even with the powers they had been given as Inhumans, not all of them were comfortable using it, and that Campbell was one of those persons. Johnson had never shown any signs of being uncomfortable with her powers, and seemed to embrace it with gusto. It was a strange dichotomy that the two had, but he didn't linger on that thought for long.

The elevator stopped at the top, opening up to sunshine and fresh air, or at least as fresh enough, considering the fires burning all around them. Triplett was the first to step out, with Carter and Rogers clearing the sides. As the group followed Triplett to where Bucky could only presume a quinjet or some transport vehicle was parked, he warily looked around. There was no sign of any impending attack, nor did he hear anything else except for the crackling of the fires all around them. They were completely exposed out here, and even as they approached the decloaked quinjet. He remembered how it had been far too easy for him to destroy SHIELD's fleet on the ground with a few well-placed grenades from his grenade launcher.

He was the last to climb onboard, and the aircraft was already rising rapidly even before the ramp fully closed. Leaving his rifle on one of the jump seats, he didn't take a seat just yet as he was rather curious as to what was going on near the cockpit. His counterpart and Rogers were crowded up there.

“...sure that the cloak is not engaging?” he heard Carter ask when he stopped near the group gathered. Carter was sitting in the co-pilot's seat, while Triplett was flying the aircraft.

“Don't know what the hell happened between the disengage and startup,” Triplett stated.

“So we're sitting ducks?” he heard his counterpart ask.

“They certainly can see us, but we still got speed, Captain,” Triplett answered. “We can outfly any HYDRA aircraft--”

A sudden beep on a side console that Bucky couldn't quite see from where he was standing alerted those within and near the cockpit. “Shit,” he heard Carter softly swear. “Jersey's Joint Base just launched several FX35's. We can't outrun that.”

“How many?” came the quiet question from Rogers.

There was a moment of silence before Bucky saw Carter pull up the long-range radar. “Thirty-three,” she whispered, visibly swallowing in fear.

“No kill like overkill,” he heard Johnson mutter darkly.

The silence that followed that was even longer before Triplett flipped a few switches, saying, “Better strap yourselves in and hold onto something... 'cause this is about to get very rough.”

Bucky partially tuned out whatever Carter was saying as he turned from watching her pull up a HUD that was connected to the rotary cannon embedded within the quinjet. His counterpart was arguing the case to try to allow Campbell and Johnson to focus their powers to try to down the enemy jet fighters coming after them. It seemed that Carter was not having that excuse, and Bucky did see the point – neither Inhuman looked as if they had had enough training or the ability to focus their powers to such a precision yet. Johnson was more liable to vibrate the quinjet apart, and Campbell could potentially fry every piece of electronic they had.

Making his way back to the cargo hold area, he saw Agent Fitz sitting in one of the jump seats, tightening the crash webbing strapped over him, looking nervous. Johnson was seated next to Agent Fitz, also looking worried, but didn't say a word. He stepped to the side to allow his counterpart through after it seemed that his arguments with Carter had hit an impasse. Rogers followed him, and took a seat, strapping himself in. However, by then, Bucky's eyes had strayed up to where there were a few crates stored above the jump seats. While the crates were as secured as one could make them, it was a particular one that had caught his eye.

If his assumption was right...

Taking a couple of steps forward, he heard Rogers begin to say from the jump seat he was standing in front of and reaching up to the crates, “Bucky—what...?”

Bucky yanked the long crate that was on the bottom of the stack out, careful not to topple or loosen the other crates from the stack beneath the cargo netting. Setting the crate down, he broke open the locks with his augmented arm and flipped the lid open. He had been correct, as he couldn't help the fact that the edges of his lips quirked up slightly in a grimly satisfied smile. It was beautiful, thin, sleek, powerful, and perfect... with four cartridges already embedded within the foam on the top right corner of the case.

Grabbing the sniper rifle out, he hefted it slightly, feeling the weight and balance of it before taking the four cartridges as well, pocketing them into the various pockets of the combat trousers that he wore. Each cartridge contained eight tungsten-weighted, armor-piercing bullets. He could do with thirty-two bullets, as he was sure that at least Carter would be able to handle at least two or three enemy fighters coming after them. Standing up, he snapped the lid of the casing shut with a kick of his booted left foot and shoved the casing with the same foot towards Rogers, saying, “Better make sure that doesn't slide around, Steve.”

“What are you—” he heard his counterpart begin, but Bucky ignored both him and the surprised look Steve was giving him. He made his way back, fiddling with the scope. He hadn't used such a scope before, but it was a variant of the one that he had used most recently as the Winter Soldier – thus he knew that there were a few commonalities that the manufacturer of the scope shared with other variants that they produced.

“Oh hell—” he heard Steve begin.

“Language,” he absently admonished in a sarcastic tone, as he let a specific memory he had pieced together in the Framework flood his mind.

Not a moment later, he hit the button on the port side of the quinjet, opening the ramp, as lights started to flash and the whoop of an alarm blared. Howling winds buffeted him and slapped the various cargo netting around, drowning out the alarm. He was quick enough to step out close to the edge, grabbing a paracord with hooks, just as a transparent shielding mechanism sprung out from the wall, and surged across the width of the quinjet's interior. It separated the open area of the cargo hold from the jump seats interior.

Mentally shrugging, it at least solved the issue of how exactly the others were going to be able to breathe while they were this high up in the air. It however, didn't solve the problem of his own breathing issue. By his count, since he was not jumping from the quinjet, if the aircraft maintained this altitude, he would only have at most, five minutes before he would begin to feel the effects of the freezing cold on his body, and the thinness of the air. Asphyxiation would soon follow both of those, if he stayed out longer than seven minutes.

_Time to get to work, soldier_ , he thought to himself as he quickly wrapped the paracord around his waist twice before hooking both ends to two separate loops along the interior hull of the quinjet. Setting the butt of the rifle against the hollow of his flesh-arm shoulder, and hooking one of the hooks on the rifle to the appropriate one on his vest to secure it even further, he knelt down. He then plucked a cartridge from one of his pockets and slammed in up and into the rifle.

Ratcheting the rifle and readying it, he peered through the scope and made the final adjustments with his augmented fingers. He knew that while it would have been better to allow his augmented arm and reinforced shoulder to take the impact of firing the rifle, he needed that arm to be free. If the paracord was not able to hold his weight when Triplett pulled evasive maneuvers, he needed to grab onto anything he could on the quinjet's frame fast.

Leaning more into the frame of the quinjet, he spotted his first target as he slowed his breathing and began to shallowly breathe. The scope's tiny HUD's range finder clocked it at about 1000 meters away, and further beyond that, Bucky could see a cluster of the enemy fighters on the lead fighter's tail. He had less than five minutes now and every second he waited for the perfect kill shot was going to kill him. He couldn't afford to be picky – shooting the engines of the fighters were going to be the quickest way to destroy them.

_Breathe—pause—heartbeat—fire._

_Fire—fire—shift half degree down—aim—breathe—pause—heartbeat—fire—fire—shift one degree right—fire._

_Shift four-point-five degrees left—heartbeat—aim—fire—fire._

_Reload._

_Breathe—heartbeat—fire—fire—fire—shrapnel collateral damage._

_Shift two degrees right—fire._

_Shift three-point-five degrees up—heartbeat—fire._

_Targets scattering attack vector formation._

_Fire—shift one degree down—aim—heartbeat—fire._

_Targets seven hundred meters closing, close flanking formation._

_One bullet in current cartridge._

_Shift seven degrees left, shred wing tip—heartbeat—fire._

_Reload._

_Collateral damage for formation, scattering._

_Breathe—pause—shift three degrees up—fire—fire—shift two-point-five degrees left—pause—fire._

_Breathe._

_Pause—breathe—cognitive functions becoming impaired._

_Still too many for the quinjet to fight or outrun._

_Shift one degree down—aim—fire—fire._

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_Shift five, no two degrees right—breathe—fire—missed._

_Try again—shift one-point-five degrees left—breathe—heartbeat—fire—missed._

_Reload._

_Breathe._

_Reload dammit._

_Breathe._

_Reload—shaking._

His hands were shaking. He couldn't get the final cartridge out.

Numerous black spots were appearing in front of his eyes.

_Breathe._

Five left... that was all he could do as he felt himself uncontrollably shake. He tried to raise his augmented arm to reach for the button that would close the ramp--

~~~

Steve was too shocked, too stunned to even cry out Bucky's name as Agent Johnson finally managed to override the force field that had sprung up between the open ramp and the rest of the cargo hold. As soon as the shield dissolved, he immediately yanked Bucky back by the collar of his kevlar vest, snapping the paracord that had been looped around his waist. Steve dragged him to the center of the cargo hold, just as Bucky's counterpart hit the button to close the ramp.

Even before the ramp was half-way closed, Triplett's voice crackled through the speakers, shouting, “Hold on!”

Steve barely had time to grab onto the edge of the nearest jump seat with his free hand, just as the quinjet was thrown into a violently aggressive barrel roll. Cargo netting around the various crates wasn't doing much to hold back said crates as he had a split second to see the sniper rifle crate fly towards him. Yanking Bucky to the side by the collar of his vest, Steve managed to brace and twist himself just enough to get clipped by the flying crate instead of allowing the crate to fully hit him.

The impact to his side was incredibly painful, possibly fracturing his ribs as his breaths became painful with the sensation of something stabbing his side. There was still a whistling sound, drowning out whatever else was coming through the speakers, as Steve glanced back to see that said crate and two others had become lodged between the closing mouth of the ramp and the ceiling of the quinjet. That was alleviated a moment later as he saw the minute shifting of the air before a hollow ringing sound pulsated through the air, blowing the rest of the crates out of the cargo hold.

The ramp snapped shut, as he looked over to see that Johnson had unbuckled herself out of her jump seat. She was hanging onto another jump seat to position herself, and had blasted the crates out with her abilities. As soon as the ramp closed, she scrambled back into the jump seat she had hung onto, as Triplett sent the quinjet into a steep dive, followed by an even steeper banking maneuver. That was swiftly followed by several bursts of the rotary cannon from Sharon. Several booms were heard, but no one was celebrating yet.

Steve hung on to the jump seat, making sure that he had a firm grip on Bucky, who was still unconscious, perhaps dead from the lack of air--. He dashed thoughts thoughts, shaking his head slightly. Bucky was not dead, he couldn't be dead – Steve refused to believe that Bucky was dead.

As soon as the quinjet leveled out, he scrambled back up. To his slight surprise, both this reality's Bucky and Johnson helped him haul Bucky up to one of the jump seats. Instead of sitting Bucky upright, Agent Campbell immediately had them lay Bucky down across several jump seats, strapping him down with the webbing. Bucky's counterpart had unhooked the sniper rifle and taken it away.

“Stay there, Rogers,” he heard Campbell order, as the young Inhuman agent placed an oxygen mask over Bucky's nose and mouth, and was grabbing some other things out of a medkit.

Steve wanted to disobey the order, but there was no room, and no jump seat available at the end where Campbell was sitting, performing emergency medical assistance to make sure that Bucky survived. So he stayed where he was, sitting at the foot of Bucky's feet, and securing the crash webbing around himself, trying not to aggravate whatever was fractured at his side. He was worried, angry at what Bucky had done, but grateful and amazed at the same time that Bucky had done that. He wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, but most of all, he wanted Bucky to open his eyes again...

The quinjet snap rolled, and Steve felt the maneuver turn into a sweeping starboard up, followed by three bursts of the rotary cannon, and another boom. A few moments later, Triplett's voice cracked through the speakers saying, “Coast is clear. All enemies are down. We're headed back to the barn. Everyone all right?”

“Have a med team meet us when we land,” Steve heard Barnes state into the nearest com microphone. “Barnes and Rogers are injured.” There was a pause, and the next words to emerge from the agent's lips caused him to look up in alarm. “Have security also meet us. We have a HYDRA mole.”

The silence that filled the cargo hold was palpable. “Repeat, Captain?” Sharon's voice came through the connected com, though that was disconnected as the door that separated the cockpit from the cargo hold swished open.

Instead of directly answering her question, Steve saw Barnes approach, holding the sniper rifle in exactly the same casual manner he had seen Bucky hold any rifle. He stopped before Fitz, who had sustained a gash on his head, and was looking slightly confused. “Sir...” the young man began.

“Don't 'sir' me, Doctor,” Barnes snapped. “That shield is never supposed to go up unless there is a complete loss of air. It doesn't go up during decompression, even at the altitude we were flying at. You're the only one who was sitting close enough to the override mechanism, so cut the crap. Why the fuck is HYDRA willing to kill you when you could've just waited and exploited your time within SHIELD? Why give yourself away now, Doctor?”

“I told you,” the young man answered, dropping all pretenses of being afraid so quickly that it startled Steve. He saw him pause, before gesturing with a slight lift of his chin towards Bucky, “or rather, I told him. We're not done with the Winter Soldier.”

The anger that swept over Steve was hot and furious, but it didn't even get to reach an apex, nor did he even get to rip off his crash webbing to stalk over and grab the young man by the front of his clothes. It was the biting, “Bullshit,” from Barnes that somehow snapped him out of the dizzying fugue that he had briefly fallen into.

“Johnson, gag him,” he heard Barnes order.

Movement had Steve looking up towards the cockpit as Johnson nodded and took a few lengths of gauze and bandages to create a temporary gag. Sharon had nodded and returned to the cockpit, her expression closed, as the door swished close again. He glanced back towards where Johnson was applying the gag, but the placid, almost uncaring expression on Fitz's face did not change. Steve was worried: not only had the Framework spit out Bucky's arm, but it seemed that disconnecting Fitz from it had not caused him to change back to who he used to be.

His attention was diverted when he saw Barnes approach out of the corner of his eyes. “Here,” he heard him say in a kinder, gentler tone. There was a slight crackling sound in the object that Barnes held – an emergency ice-pack.

Grateful, Steve took it and managed to say through the stabbing pain at his side from breathing and from the movement, “Thanks.”

“Don't listen to whatever Fitz says. As the Doctor, he's been known to rankle a lot of people, even within HYDRA. It's his way of exerting authority, of proving that he has a superior mind that no one can compare to.” After a moment's hesitation and with eyes flicking over to the prone body of Bucky before focusing back on him, Barnes said, “He'll live, Steve. I'd like to think that no counterpart of mine would be dumb enough to croak in front of their best friend. So for his sake, he'd better live and be the same before he pulled that stupid stunt.”

Despite his worry and the gravity of the situation, Steve took the attempt at levity for what it was and gave him a small smile. “He'd better,” he answered, glancing over towards Bucky where he could barely see the minute and extremely slow rise and fall of his chest. While he knew he could take it as a sign that Bucky would live, he also knew that there was no telling what the deliberate lack of oxygen had done to Bucky's mind. “Can't take all the stupid with him and not bring it back.”

Alarm briefly over took him as he saw Campbell lean in slightly for a moment, tilting his head to his side before he saw the Inhuman shake his head slightly, lifting it up and looking over at both him and Barnes. “If I heard him right, he said, 'I gave the stupid back to you a long time ago', sirs.”

“He's awake--” Steve began, rising but felt himself being pushed back down with a hand planted on his chest that slightly aggravated the stabbing pain at his side.

“Nah-ah,” Barnes said, pushing him back into the jump seat. “You stay there, Steve. You're just as bad as Stevie is with the mollycoddling, so for my counterpart's sake, I'm going to be your minder until we land. Stay, rest, heal. You can go yell at him later... after I've had my turn.”

“That's got to be so weird, yelling at your mirror who can yell back,” Steve heard Johnson mutter as she finished gagging and securing Fitz, and returned to her original jump seat.

As much as Steve wanted to frown and say his piece of mind, he refrained from doing so. It was only because the words were something he knew Bucky had said many variants of it to him when he had either been sick in bed, lying in an alley beaten and bloodied, or whenever he was looking to stop bullies. It was also the strangest thing he heard coming from the person who looked and acted so much like Bucky before the war, before becoming the Winter Soldier, that it shut him up.

He wanted his old life back, wanted the days to be the halcyon ones of yore, but he knew that it could never be anymore. Bucky was lying next to him, not standing in front of him with a stern look in his eyes that also carried something else he could not quite identify. The one person he had thrown everything away that he had built for himself since coming out of ice, was next to him; alive and hopefully hale and healthy within the next few hours. There was no turning back time, no wishing for the past to return – this was what he had, now and forever.

“All right,” he finally said at last, finally able to look up and _see_ this reality's James Buchanan Barnes for the first time. “I'll wait, James.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	10. Memory: печь

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**печь** _

_Year:_ _1943, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: December, no additional fragments_

_Time: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

“Jesus Christ my balls are going to fall off if it gets any colder than this,” Bucky heard DumDum mutter, his voice clearly audible across the eerily silent, partially destroyed building they were currently sweeping through.

“Well, at least we'll have _something_ to contribute to the Christmas decorations they're adorning the headquarters with,” Falsworth's bitingly sarcastic quip answered DumDum complaints.

“I'm sure the ladies would _greatly_ appreciate the decoration if it were placed as a tree topper,” Steve followed up in an equally dry tone.

“Ha ha, Cap,” DumDum answered, as Bucky fought to contain his laughter.

It seemed that the other Commandos did not have any reservations about keeping their laughter hidden as a rash of chuckles erupted across the abandoned building. If only the press and even those who interviewed Steve for their morale films knew just how dirty of a mind Steve had. It would completely destroy the 'squeaky-clean' image of Captain America. The weekly comic strips that were printed in the papers back home about 'Captain America and his Howling Commandos' wouldn't be able to print their sanitized stories any longer.

Both he and Jones were the ends of the sweeping line of the Commandos. They had staggered to cover the width of what looked like a former factory. Bucky turned the corner of the bombed out first floor and halted. All thoughts he had earlier were quickly shoved to the side as he held up a fist, immediately pointing his rifle in his other hand towards the door that was at the end of the hall. Something about the door at the end of the hall, even though there was nothing on it – not even a lock – and it gave him an uneasy feeling.

The laughter among the Commandos abruptly died. He felt and heard Morita sweep up to his left, as he lowered his fist and readjusted his grip on his rifle. Following Morita, he saw him pause at the door, on the hinge side, and pointed his rifle at the handle. Bucky aimed his rifle at height and nodded once for Morita to yank the door open.

Quickly sweeping across all four corners, nothing from the darkness jumped out at them, but something did emerge from behind the door – a most foul smell. While it wasn't comparable to the stench that had been the result of his metal items being strangely turned to mud a couple of months ago, this smell was different. There was something coppery about it, or sulfur that reminded him of the factories. It was clearly mixed in with what shit smelled like that had been frozen. Bucky knew only because he had accidentally stepped in horseshit when he was thirteen and forgot to completely clean his shoes off before stowing away in the ice cream truck's freezer locker with Steve.

Reaching for his flashlight, he drew it out and snapped it on, tucking it into the palm of his hand that held the underside of the barrel of his rifle. Sweeping all four corners again as Morita's flashlight joined his sweep, there was nothing to indicate that the area was another room – only a passage down a flight of stone stairs. Silently, he stepped in and began to slowly make his way down, with Morita following close behind him.

The stairs were a spiral wind, much like what he remembered reading in Becca's books about the old castles of yore. The walls were incredibly dry, and there seemed to be no draft pushing air around. The smell remained, lingering, almost seemingly cloyingly clinging onto him, but he pushed on. Soon, after spiraling for two revolutions, he saw a faint amount of light begin to spill into the staircase. There was either a window or some light source at the bottom.

Continuing down, he didn't hurry towards the light, as each step towards the bottom became more visible and brighter. Still, he did not snap his flashlight off, as he kept his grip on his rifle tight and listened closely for any sign of an ambush. It was only when he finally reached the bottom and ducked his head and stepped out a step to avoid hitting his forehead on the low ceiling that he stopped where he was. Horror gripped him as he saw what was spread out before him in the dungeon-basement of this factory.

Cages upon cages, some as large as a lion's circus cage, some smaller than what a pet dog lived in, lined either side of the enormous underground hall. Slits of windows high above in the ceiling showered light into the hall, barely illuminating the place. However, it was neither of those that had him staring in pure shock; it was the frozen bodies of children in those cages that absolutely horrified him.

Bodies upon bodies, the children looked half-dazed, some looked asleep, some had clearly a starving look about them with their distended stomachs and too-thin arms – but all had the blue-tinge of being frozen to death. Even more appalling was the fact that there was an enormous furnace in the center of the room, and it was _empty_.

“Oh God,” he managed to utter in a whisper as Morita's rifle clattered to the ground beside him, with Morita himself also stunned.

“Morita, Barnes, sit-rep,” DumDum's voice immediately answered the clattering sound.

Bucky tried to form words, tried to say something, but nothing was working. All he could do was stare, stricken that something—someone would do such a thing. What monster would leave _children_ in the basement of a factory, and forget them? What monster didn't even fill the furnace to at least give them some semblance of warmth? What monster _used_ children and had the gall to starve them? What monster--

“Oh my God,” Steve's whispered exclamation of horror snapped him out of his fugue.

“Christ Almighty,” Falsworth muttered, as the others chimed in with their own curses or kept silent in the same manner that Morita had done.

“We need to bury them,” Morita was the first one to break the silence that followed the rest of the Commandos' descent into the basement hall. “We need to bury all of them.”

“They deserve at least that much in death,” Jones muttered, agreeing.

“There was a hardware shop of sorts about two hundred yards before the factory,” Steve spoke up. “Falsworth and Dernier, go see if you can find shovels or anything that we can use to dig holes.”

“Yes, sir,” the two answered, grateful that despite their original mission, they were not going to just leave the bodies of children who died in such a horrific manner here.

“The rest of us will carry the children up and get them ready for burial,” Steve continued.

* * *

_Addendum to Memory: a few days later..._

_Location: SSR Headquarters, no additional fragments_

 

“Two days late for the rendezvous, Captain Rogers. I told the boys to hold fast, and they did. I hope you have some good news for me,” Bucky heard Colonel Phillips begin as they sat around the briefing table.

“The outpost was destroyed as ordered, sir,” Steve answered in a crisp, neutral-sounding tone, “Your people can go in as soon as they want to.”

Despite the festive and bright atmosphere around headquarters, there was no such happiness surrounding Bucky and the others. Even the usual presence of Peggy, Howard, and Lorraine, who was taking notes, was not cheering him up. The Commandos all sat stone-faced at the table, hoping that the debrief would be shorter than it usually was. None of them wanted to linger in such a cheery place, let alone the bar where it was most likely to be openly cheery and festive on the eve of Christmas. Bucky had half a mind to just want to crawl into his bed and place a pillow over his head for the entire rest of the day until Christmas was over. He was not in the mood to celebrate, and it looked like his fellow Commandos were of the same mind as well.

“So why did it take you two extra days, Captain?” Phillips asked.

Silence answered the commander of the SSR's question. Bucky did not need to glance over to Steve who sat across from him, to know that Steve was still seeing the images of the frozen children. They all were – or at least both he and Steve still did. The memories were a little more muddled but still there for the rest of their group. Both of them had discovered that neither could not get drunk; Steve due to his serum's ridiculously fast regeneration and cell protection, and he himself due to whatever the hell Dr. Zola had done to him.

“Captain--”

“Day one,” Bucky spoke up, not caring if he was speaking out of turn, or in a tone that was definitely not supposed to be ever used in front of a superior officer. He was tired and sick of it, of having Steve wash some of what they faced in the field, out, whenever they briefed Philips and his people. Hell, he knew that Steve never put every single detail except for the ones that were most relevant into his reports to the brass.

“We buried sixty-seven children that we found in a shelled out factory's basement on our way to the outpost,” he continued. “They had frozen to death. Some were as young as six, some probably around sixteen or seventeen. Some looked like they had been abused. Some beaten with broken bones. Some starved; they shouldn't have been as light to carry out as they were. All of them were being experimented upon. During the burial, we discovered that the culprits were not only HYDRA, but they had colluded with some Nazi scientists.”

He tapped the table for a moment, ignoring the horrified looks on Peggy, Howard, and Lorraine's faces. He was, however, well aware that the entire area, extending even beyond the briefing table, was silent. “Day two. We hunted those bastards down. The Nazis were only about 30 kilometers from the edge of town. They had been celebrating their good fortune for escaping the advance of some British patrol unit a week ago, and had tried to lay a trap in that town by blowing it sky high.”

He paused for a moment, taking a breath to calm himself from the memory of what they—he in particular—had done to the scientists. “Day three,” he continued. “We blew up your outpost. That was where the HYDRA scientists had been hiding.” He shrugged. “It's perfectly clean now to move in. Not a spot of blood or body left. Sir.”

“Or foundation, for the matter,” Falsworth muttered before saying a little louder, “You'll have to rebuild your outpost from the ground up.”

“That's why we were two days late, _sir_ ,” Steve spoke up in the silence that followed, his voice and tone even, though Bucky could clearly hear the anger within that tone. None of it was directed at him though – it was all directed towards Phillips. “May we be dismissed?”

There was a moment's pause, but despite the unreadable expression on Philips' face, Bucky could see that even the commanding officer of the SSR was a little horrified. There was however, clear anger in those eyes as well, and though Bucky knew that he had overstepped his NCO rank in his address to Philips, he was beyond caring at the moment. “Dismissed, Captain, but I want Sergeant Barnes to report to my office in fifteen minutes for disciplinary action.”

“Sorry sir,” Steve stated, as they all stood, “but I can't have Sergeant Barnes report to you. He's needed on this mission, as are the rest of the Commandos.”

Despite the misery and anger swirling around him, Bucky managed to keep his surprise from showing. However, he saw Steve pull out a piece of folded paper from within his uniform and set it on the table, sliding it towards Philips. It was then that he understood what exactly Steve meant by 'mission'. He didn't mind the brief stop at headquarters – in fact, he greatly preferred that he was not here for another hour. It was too cheerful, too happy, too merry that he absolutely detested the festive air.

“What mission?” Philips demanded, taking the paper and unfolding it.

“Sergeant Barnes forgot to add in the debrief that we found the exact location of the sought-after munitions factory at the outpost before we blew it up. We'll see you after the New Year, sir. Have a good holiday,” Steve answered with a finality that seemed to signal the end of the debrief.

As the others streamed out, Bucky followed them, and Steve was the last to leave, following behind him. Bucky sensed him pausing for a moment and turned slightly to see the tail end of Steve nodding at Howard and Peggy, both of whom had understanding looks. Phillips was staring at the Howling Commandos' retreating backs with an inscrutable expression, but he wasn't saying anything to the MPs to stop them from leaving.

Bucky returned his gaze forward and continued down the hall, following the others to where they had stored their weapons. Christmas used to be his favorite holiday, as he and Steve used to wish for the silliest of things when they had been growing up. However, after what they had come across a few days ago, all he could wish for, was that each and every household gripped in the arms of this bitterly cold winter had a furnace, a campfire, something to keep warm. He never wanted to see or carry a frozen body, child or adult, ever again.

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**печь** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	11. девять (Nine)

**Chapter 6: девять (Nine)**

 

“You're not my uncle.”

что?

Bucky blinked several times, becoming awake instantly as he turned his head ever so slightly towards the source of the child-like voice. As the blurriness faded from his eyes, he saw a young girl with brown hair tied up in blue-ribbon pigtails that matched the checkered-patterned blue dress she wore. Her wide blue-green eyes were staring at him, though she was also biting her fingers. There was a frown on her button-nosed face as she blinked, shifting slightly as if she were trying to puzzle him out.

Confusion flooded him – last he remembered was reaching up for the button to close the ramp of the quinjet. Now, he was in a hospital bed, but not in a hospital, judging by the brick walls and drab ceiling that surrounded him. Some of it looked familiar, and if his stitched memories served him right, he was possibly within the SSR Headquarters... or somewhere within an underground bunker. He glanced over at the young girl – she had not moved from where she stood by the side of his bed. She didn't look much older than three, and he didn't recall any children that young being able to form that kind of a coherent, easily understood sentence.

Rapid footsteps outside of wherever he was approached, and he looked up in time to see that the door to the room he was in had been left open. Rogers and an highly unexpected person behind him both stepped through the open door, with Rogers' expression carrying that of panic on it. Both he and the unexpected person halted a few steps in, with Rogers' panicked expression melting into that of confusion.

“Uncle Bucky!” the girl cried, racing up to the person who had entered behind Rogers, who had immediately stepped to the side.

Bucky blinked again as he saw his counterpart scoop up the girl, who instead of shrieking with delight as he would have expected a child her age to do, merely buried her head against his chest, as if suddenly fast asleep. There was a faint smile upon his counterpart's lips that seemed so familiar yet so foreign to him – as if he could reach out and feel its ghost tugging upon his own lips. He saw Rogers mouth in confusion, 'Uncle Bucky?'

Before his counterpart could leave though, the girl woke back up and turned her attention to Rogers saying, “Why do you look like my mom?”

“Uh,” Rogers began, unsure.

“Not now, pint-size,” Bucky heard his counterpart state in a kind, reassuring tone. “Aunt Peggy and Aunt Sharon are probably worried about you. We need--”

“But, why?” the little girl insisted, and began to sniffle, eyes still focused on Rogers. “Why do you look like my mom?”

Unexpectedly, she scrambled out of the arms of his counterpart, landing on the ground with no injury. Quicker than Bucky thought possible for a child her age and size, she wrapped her arms around Rogers' right leg, burying her head against his knee. “Why do you look like my mom?” she sniffled, nearly crying her words into Rogers' leg.

Bucky saw Rogers crouch as best as he could without dislodging the girl, patting her gently on the head, saying, “You miss your mother, don't you?” The little girl sniffed and raised her head slightly, nodding. “What's your name?”

“Caroline,” the girl answered before asking again, “Why do you look like my mom?”

“Well,” Rogers answered after a moment, “I'm sort of related to your mom, Caroline.”

“Come on, pint-size,” Bucky heard his counterpart gently say, crouching and reaching out with a hand towards the girl. “This other man in the room needs to rest. You woke him up, and he's not well yet.”

The little girl shook her head, refusing to take his counterpart's offered hand, and instead, reburied her face into Rogers' knee. “I'll take her out,” Rogers stated after a few moments, carefully extricating the girl from his leg and standing back up. “You said you wanted to go yell at him”--Rogers nodded towards him “--so have at it, James.”

“You might want to take her to the mess hall then, Steve. Innocent ears and all,” his counterpart stated in a neutral tone.

Rogers didn't answer and merely nodded before taking the little girl by the hand and led her out of the room, closing the door behind him. It didn't escape Bucky's notice that there was a somewhat forlorn look in his counterpart's expression as he watched the little girl leave. However, that expression quickly disappeared as his counterpart turned and faced him, dragging up a stool to sit next to the bed.

“So,” his counterpart stated, sitting down as if he were just having an ordinary conversation, “here we are.”

“So,” he answered in the same exact tone and cadence, “here we are.”

Bucky supposed that he was not too surprised when words faltered his counterpart, as he watched him open his mouth once before looking down at the ground, as if finding it interesting for a brief moment. When he looked back up, there was nothing to suggest any anger behind those eyes that mirrored his own, but he was not fooled by such a passive expression. He had seen what his counterpart could do, had even had a few stitched memories of him performing nearly the same actions and expressions.

“I hate you,” his counterpart bluntly stated.

“Feeling's mutual,” he answered.

It was not a lie for either of them, and neither needed to state the reason why. Silence fell between them, and Bucky was not one to go about breaking it. Both of them could stew in their mutual dislike of each other, now that the danger of escaping from the Framework and whatever the hell that HYDRA facility was, had passed. It was also something he highly doubted that either Rogers or Rogers' counterpart would even understand, as one had to stand in front of the mirror, to have seen and lived on the other side to know why.

“Don't ever pull that stupid of a stunt ever again in front of him,” his counterpart stated after a few minutes. “I don't care if you're a marksman with that super-soldier serum running through you, that was extremely dangerous.”

“Pot calling kettle,” he immediately countered, knowing that his counterpart knew what he was referring to with regards to the highly idiotic attempt to be a double agent within the Framework. “For the supposedly best intelligence agent and operative that SHIELD has, you're pretty stupid yourself.”

“Guess both of us took the stupid with us and never really returned it, yeah?”

Bucky snorted, closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. “Yeah. Guess that's something we can agree on.”

“Here's your journal,” he heard his counterpart say and saw him pull out the notebook he had been using in the Framework from within his uniform's jacket. “Don't ask how it got manifested. It's as strange as your metal arm manifesting as well.”

“You read through it?” he asked, as he saw him place the notebook on the table next to his head.

“Of course,” his counterpart stated, snorting slightly. “I need to know who I'm dealing with after all. You'd do the same if you were in my shoes.”

Bucky had to admit that his counterpart had a point. Rogers had been polite and had not rifled through the journal, and neither did Rogers' counterpart, but he didn't fault his own counterpart for not adhering to politeness. That was not how either of them operated to survive. “It's not all there yet,” he said, lifting a hand out from under the stiff and starchy sheet covering him and tapped his head. “There's still thousands of fragments floating in there.”

“So I've gathered,” his counterpart stated. “But you are functional, even with that stupid stunt, so I know that you can answer this one question for me: are you able to control that monster within you?”

“Can _you_ control the monster that you created within yourself?” he asked instead of answering.

“I need that monster within me to get Stevie back,” he heard him answer, briefly looking away for a moment before focusing back on him.

Bucky was silent for a few moments. In those extremely brief words, it was all he needed to know and understand what had happened after he had fallen unconscious. They were currently at a secured base, but the Zephyr, or whatever aircraft that Rogers' counterpart had been on with her team had either not reported in, were captured, or otherwise incapacitated. His counterpart was most likely in the midst of getting intel on where Strike Alpha had been, and would soon mount a rescue mission.

“And I need to make sure that the monster within me doesn't ever kill Steve,” he quietly stated. “HYDRA is fair game, though.”

They weren't at an impasse, but neither were they reassuring each other. The mutual dislike was still palpable, but Bucky felt that he could at least tolerate his counterpart's presence while here. He didn't think that he would ever become friendly with his counterpart, as he had seen Rogers and Rogers' counterpart become with each other. There was too much about this reality's James Barnes that he knew he could never recover or become, and he was sure the same could be said of himself with regards to his counterpart's opinion of him.

“All right,” his counterpart stated, standing up. “I'll accept that for now.” Walking to the door, he saw him pause for a moment, hand on the handle, but did not open the door yet. Turning back slightly, he saw him point to the journal, saying, “Word of advice, Sergeant. You'd better tell him before it's too late.”

“Thought we weren't 'friendly' enough for advice yet, Captain,” he answered, frowning slightly.

“No, but we're close enough in mutual...life experiences,” his counterpart said, giving him a bitter smile. “Don't make the same mistakes I made with Stevie. Tell Steve Rogers before it's too late.”

* * *

“I didn't know Mommy had a brother.”

“Well, we were separated because of many things, Caroline,” Steve answered as he led her down another set of halls and found an empty bench lined by the side of an unused laboratory.

It was strange to be walking the halls of the old SSR bunker, filled with SHIELD personnel that looked slightly out of place in their modern military uniforms. A few of the personnel here wore either US Army or Air Force colors, but he had seen at least one of each from the Navy, Marine, and Coast Guard. He had learned that though SHIELD had been disavowed by the world, the uniformed personnel within still had roles in their armed services branches – the liaisons who had not yet been disavowed and had some secret support by a few military officials.

Bucky's counterpart had been one of those still uniformed, wearing the Air Force blues, the rank of a Captain, and a pin that was unrecognizable to him – until he was told that it marked James as a member of the Office of Air Force Intelligence. Upon learning which branch of service he had served in during World War Two, Steve had been offered an Army uniform, allowing him to change out of his stars and stripes uniform. He had considered opting for civilian clothes, but something within him thought that solidarity in matching those other officers and NCOs in the armed services would do morale some good.

The other civilian personnel wore the grey-blue uniform of SHIELD, with their eagle insignia displayed proudly. However, the only ones who seemed to truly fit in the place, in his opinion, were the scientists and engineers who wore the white lab coats. They reminded him of Howard and his team of engineers down in their laboratory.

The debrief had been longer than he liked, but it was the nature of the beast. He was glad that SHIELD – with this reality's James Barnes in particular insisting – had seen to it that he was allowed to walk the halls without an escort, unlike HYDRA within the Framework.

Towards the end of the debrief though, an emergency transmission had interrupted them – a mayday being broadcast on all known and used SHIELD frequencies. It had not come from Strike Team Echo, but rather from the Zephyr – from Director Coulson himself. All Steve and the others had heard was that the Zephyr had been hit before static had enveloped the rest of the transmission. The last known location of the mobile command center had been pinpointed to somewhere within the Arabian Sea. The triangulation algorithm of the transmission could not confirm that, due to the signal prematurely cutting out.

Nothing could be done after that transmission had cut out, at least nothing that Steve could contribute to. If there had been one thing he had hated while working with the SSR and with SHIELD, it was the hurry up and wait part in between missions. After being dismissed, he had left to go see Dr. Campbell – the Inhuman who possessed powers of lightning, and had been a former neurosurgeon. However, such a specialty had not been needed by SHIELD lately, and Campbell had become a general doctor and occasional field agent. Steve had hoped that he had some news on the prognosis for Bucky.

At this very moment though, his attention was focused on the little girl by his side. Sitting down, he laughed a little as she hopped up on the bench and sat beside him, swinging her legs this way and that. Though her eyes were still a little puffy, she had calmed down quite quickly when he had left the recovery room that Bucky had been placed in. His initial panic at seeing the door wide open when he went to go check up on Bucky had caused a few of the personnel to be startled. He had thought that Bucky had stupidly decided to leave and go somewhere, but that panic had been alleviated when he saw that there had been no such action taken.

Instead, the little girl had been the one to cause such confusion. It was only when she had been picked up by her 'Uncle Bucky' that he had gotten a good look at her, and realized that she was Stevie's child. She looked a lot like Stevie, even though she had brown hair and a button-nose that was definitely not from Stevie. His counterpart had never mentioned about having a daughter while in the Framework, but considering that HYDRA controlled it, he supposed that it was for the better.

Still, it had been a surprise, and the child's plaintive question about her mother had seemingly punched him in the gut. Just the fact that she was now calm and grinning at him with absolutely no fear or otherwise told him that Stevie did not see her daughter often. He knew then that he was a substitute of sorts, a calming presence for her, and it made him sad to see her like this.

Footsteps approaching interrupted his musings as he looked up to see-- “Peggy,” he whispered.

Though she had been present in the debrief, he had not gotten a good look at her, due to the dimness of the room that the briefing had been conducted in. Now, standing in the brightly lit halls, she was as he remembered from long ago, vibrant, beautiful, sharply dressed in the olive uniform of the SSR. She was older, with a wiser and more aged look behind her eyes. Wisps of grey hair were interspersed with her brown ones, but it was the momentary confusion swimming in her familiar eyes that caused him to stand and stammer, “Sorry... I'm sorry... I didn't--”

“It's all right, Captain Rogers,” she said, reassuring him and held out a hand in greeting. “I hope that you will accept my apologies in being remiss with my manners earlier.”

“It's understandable,” he answered. As much as he wanted to ask about any updates on trying to find and locate the Zephyr, the Director, and her crew that contained Strike Alpha, he knew that not enough time had even passed for the search algorithms to comb through reams of data.

He took her hand and shook it, trying not to show just how much he missed her. She was clearly a different woman in this reality, and it had not escaped his notice that her ring finger had a simple band around it. She had, or was married to someone, and he knew he had to place aside everything he knew of Peggy Carter. It was difficult for him to though...

“I see that Caroline has made a new friend in you,” she said, as he let go of her hand and she gestured down to the girl.

“His name is Steve,” the girl pipped up, looking quite happy. “He's Mommy's brother.”

“Oh?” Peggy asked, giving Caroline a curious look before looking up at him with a slight crinkle of her eyes.

“Mommy needs help, doesn't she?” Caroline asked after a moment. “Is that why Mommy's brother is here? To help Uncle Bucky find and get Mommy back?”

Steve gave a start, staring down at the girl in surprise just as Peggy crouched down before her, saying, “Yes, little one. Your mother needs help. We'll do everything to find her and bring her home to you.”

He felt Caroline slip her tiny hand around his left index and middle finger, squeezing it ever so briefly before letting go and chirping, “Thank you, Uncle Steve.”

See that the girl was satisfied with the answer, he saw Peggy stand back up and reach out to take Caroline's hand. The girl hopped off the bench and with a nod towards him, Peggy led her away. Steve watched the two go, as a bout of grief filled him as he stared at the retreating back of Peggy. However, as his eyes focused on the little girl, he couldn't help but frown slightly. He put her age at no more than three, but never had he ever encountered any toddler who could form as coherent, understandable sentences as she did. Nor had he ever encountered a child that age who had a good awareness of what was going on.

“She has the super-soldier serum in her,” an unexpected voice spoke up from behind him, causing him to spin around. He saw Bucky's counterpart push off against the wall he had been leaning against in an adjacent hall, half-hidden by the shadows cast.

“What?” he managed to utter as horror filled him, causing him to look down the hall again, just in time to see Peggy and Caroline disappear through a set of doors. “How could--”

“She was born with the serum running through her blood,” James stated, shaking his head slightly. “The serum affected every single cell, organ, everything in Stevie, and that included her reproductive organs, though no one knew that at the time.” Before Steve could say a word, James continued, saying, “Biologically, Caroline is less than two years old, but mentally and physically, she's growing and learning faster than any child. It's been more difficult as time goes on to keep things from her.”

“Stevie...” he began, frowning some more. “I get the impression that she doesn't see Caroline often. Is she aware...of.. Caroline's condition?”

“You're right,” James answered, “she doesn't see her often. Strike Alpha and Echo are usually attached with the Director for long-haul missions – Operations Directorate. Strike Bravo and Charlie are situated here with the Intelligence Directorate. Stevie deliberately left her here under the care of Agent Carter because this is supposed to be the lowest-risk Directorate in terms of HYDRA's threat assessment. She didn't want Caroline to be used as a hostage against her. Besides, with the R&D eggheads here, they have a better chance of stopping Caroline's accelerated growth before it can potentially become something that could kill her.”

“But the serum--” he began.

“Was used on an adult,” James stated, briefly looking away as Steve saw his eyes crinkle in worry and something else that he couldn't identify, for a moment before disappearing as he returned his attention to him. “Who the hell knows what it can do to a child who is still growing.”

There was bitterness in the tone of his voice, but also something else that after a moment, Steve realized what it was. Regret. A protective tone mixed with bitterness and regret. There had been many times that Bucky had admonished him for not being observant of his surroundings during the war, and while that had been initially true, since the fall of SHIELD and now spending time in the Framework, he had liked to think that he was getting better at picking up subtle clues and the like.

“You're Caroline's father, aren't you?” he quietly asked after a few moments of silence. “Given the time frame when she was born, everyone else here thinks that Tony is her father, don't they?”

James took a step back, and shrugged, saying, “Stevie never did a paternity test, if that's what you're asking, Steve. At that point in time, Stark was already five months dead, and Stevie's own life was already in danger due to her carrying an accelerated fetus that was Caroline. So, really... it doesn't matter who Caroline's father is. All that mattered then and now is that the kid never gets used as a hostage against Stevie.”

Steve was silent for a long moment before nodding. “Agreed,” he stated, but held up a finger to prevent James from walking away right then and there, saying, “But what are you going to say to her when she finally figures it out?”

“I'll cross that bridge myself when the time comes,” James answered, turning and walking away. Steve watched him go and just before James crossed the doors, he heard him say, “By the way, Steve, you're free to go yell at Barnes for being an idiot. I've already said my piece.”

Steve felt the edges of his lips quirk up in a sad smile as he stared at the closed door for a few minutes longer before looking elsewhere and sighed. There were so many assumptions he could make about this world, about the actual reality of this world, but there were so many parallels he could draw with his own. However, there was one thing that he knew to be true between both worlds, even if the relationships between familiar people so unfamiliar here to him were ever so slightly different. There was one promise that bound Stephanie Rogers and James Barnes: they were with each other, until the end of the line.

It was the same promise made in his reality, and had things not been as chaotic as they had been, he mused that perhaps that promise made could have turned into something similar in this reality.

* * *

_Later..._

 

It was fairly predictable, the brief silence that fell upon those standing around the back-lit and hard light projection table in the center of the room. Bucky knew that he should have expected, but it still caused the strangest of feelings within him as eyes riveted to stare at him, as if he had committed some grave crime of just entering when he clearly had been ordered to attend. It was only the briefly upwards quirk on Rogers' lips signaling his relief, that alleviated some discomfort from being openly stared at by a few others around the table.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Carter, an older version of Agent Carter that he clearly remembered from the memories and fragments, greeted, stepping out from her position at the head of the table. As she approached, she reached out with a hand in greeting. He returned the gesture and was surprised at just how firm of a grip she had, considering that there was clearly grey in her hair. “Peggy Carter, Acting Director of SHIELD. Glad you've recovered and are able to join us.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Director Carter,” he answered, though he couldn't help but briefly see an amused look appear on Rogers' face. Clearly he had stated something amusing that he didn't know was supposed to be amusing, but didn't call Rogers out on it.

Carter let his hand go and returned to the table. He followed her, but stopped at the other end, taking up a vacant spot between Rogers and Johnson who smirked at him before nudging his shin with her foot. Whatever deeper meaning that action was supposed to convey, he wasn't too sure. However, considering that he had grown used to and didn't mind her presence while in the Framework, he took it to mean that she was happy that he was up and about.

As the briefing continued, Bucky half-tuned out the discussion on the data collected about locating Director Coulson, the Zephyr, and Strike Team Alpha. It was not that he had nothing to contribute – he didn't – but that since entering the room, something didn't feel right to him. He had taken a sweeping look around the room when he had entered, but nothing inanimate seemed out of the ordinary, and so he decided to concentrate on the people gathered.

To his right, Rogers as usual, had an intense, concentrated look on his face as he listened to what was being presented. To his left, Johnson was typing away while listening with an ear on the briefing, most likely cross-referencing or hacking into some system to try to pull up more data that they needed. His counterpart was standing next to Johnson, presenting information that he had found both in the Framework and outside of it with regards to the missing mobile command center and the team onboard it.

Agent Carter, Director Carter's niece – he had to presume the same relationship as Sam Wilson in his reality had told him about Sharon Carter to Peggy Carter – was occasionally supplementing whatever his counterpart was saying. She was standing next to Triplett, who was standing next to Rogers. The pilot was just listening, seemingly content on not getting in between anything that was being presented. The other agent who had been with the team that had rescued them from New Jersey, the Inhuman Agent Lincoln Campbell, was not present. Bucky briefly wondered where Campbell was, but he pushed that aside just as fast as the thought had come.

Agent Fitz was not present, but Bucky took it to mean that whatever R&D they had here, still had not found a way to break whatever hold HYDRA had implemented into the young man – at least not since he had been briefed by Rogers. Rogers had entered his recovery room about a half-hour after his counterpart had left. However, rather than the presumed yelling that he thought Rogers would conduct, Rogers had said nothing and just pulled the stool towards the wall where the head of his bed was. Rogers had then sat, drawing forth a small sketch pad and a pencil from within the Army uniform jacket, and just sat there, sketching and telling him what had happened after he had blacked out on the quinjet.

Bucky had not known what to make of it. There were a few fragments of long ago that told him that Rogers had done this sort of thing before – of sitting, sketching, and talking to him, but that hadn't happened since both of them had shipped over to Europe to fight in the war. There was no exasperation, no annoyance, no anger, nothing in Rogers' tone as he spoke. Nothing that Rogers said betrayed anything he felt with regards to what had happened on the quinjet, or even during their escape from the HYDRA facility. Instead, the tone Rogers used felt soothing and surprisingly peaceful – as if they were back home, back in the lives they had before going to war.

He mentally shook his head of his brief diversion of thought and refocused on trying to find the source of his current unease. At the head of the table was Director Carter, but there—Bucky frowned slightly as he caught a glimpse of the assistant standing next to Carter as the woman raised her head up ever so briefly from the small, solid-backed screen that was situated in front of her. She had red hair that was similar to Romanov of his and Rogers' reality, a face that was kind as it was stern looking, and eyes that were sharp as one should be when being an assistant to a head of a SHIELD directorate. But it was not those that had caught his attention, but rather something about her that puzzled him...made him strangely uneasy.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Director Carter's sharp tone snapped him out of his observations, while simultaneously drawing all of the others' attention to him.

Quickly going over what was projected and what he could remember about what had been discussed thus far, he refocused his attention on Carter, stating, “Ma'am. Standard HYDRA protocol is to dismantle any vessel that is downed by them and not destroyed on impact. Assuming that the Zephyr managed to land, as seen in the satellite photo, it's most likely a planted one full of traps. One or two survivors may be kept there to keep up the charade, while the dead and injured are moved to other bases. What you're looking at there is probably a false location, even if its taken a few hours to dig it up through several encrypted servers--”

He snapped his mouth shut as he realized every single pair of eyes around the table were staring at him. Most of those pairs of eyes looked confused. However, Rogers' eyes holding a clearly regretful look, and the incredibly neutral look that his counterpart's eyes held, gave him an inkling as to what had happened. He clenched his jaw in both anger and dismay as he realized that he had thought of the words in English, thought he had stated it in English, had seemingly heard himself saying it in English, but it had been a lie.

What he had just spoken was Russian – he had completely briefed the room in Russian.

He wanted to apologize, wanted to retract his earlier words, brief again in English, but he kept his mouth shut. He did not trust himself to say a word at the moment. Even the reassuring, comforting hand from Rogers landing on his shoulder and giving him a brief squeeze didn't do anything to calm him. He had relapsed, he had lost control, and even with the memories he had pieced together thus far, he was still drowning in the sea of fragments.

“It's a trap,” Rogers spoke up. “Those scans, it's a trap made by HYDRA. They'll plant one or two survivors of the initial crash there and take the others elsewhere.”

“Then we'll have to just spring it,” he heard his counterpart state, as Rogers lifted his hand from his shoulder. “Save the survivors, bring back some prisoners.” There was a pause before he heard his counterpart ask, “What forces can we expect in such a trap, Sergeant?”

Bucky blinked just as Rogers protested with a, “Hey!”

However, the question, his focusing of it was enough for the necessary fragments to coalesce as he looked up and said, “Two platoons, spread out on a south-west to north-east quadrant. Funneling technique towards mines in a potential escape route – not the obvious one. Survivors possibly rigged with explosives on a timer or range. They'll keep the trap going even after the planted survivors are dead, frying the place only after a month of no-show, no-contact.”

He saw his counterpart turn slightly towards Director Carter, saying, “We can't wait a month, ma'am. Permission to deploy Bravo?”

He quietly let go of the breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding as he looked back down at the table – he had spoken in English again. It was only when Carter stated, “Put your team together, Captain, and detail a plan of extraction. We'll start the handshake protocols with the UAE and give you the go once the back channels begin to clear. Check with R&D for your team's gear,” that he looked back up.

“Ma'am,” he saw his counterpart nod.

“Captain Barnes,” Carter began before any of them could be dismissed, as Bucky noticed the steely look in her eyes. “We _can't_ send another team if Bravo falls.”

There was a moment of silence before he heard his counterpart crisply answer, “Understood, ma'am.”

There was something in that tone, something in the way that Carter had stated and that his counterpart had answered that Bucky realized something not profound, but a little alarming. It was not that HYDRA had won and were crushing the rest of SHIELD and those who resisted, but it was that this base, this underground bunker, these people in it – they were all that was left of SHIELD. There was no more help to depend on or coming for these people – no more 'rogue' code turning into Resistance members like the Framework. His counterpart, right or wrong, was knowingly leading his team on a potential suicide mission to rescue what was left of the mobile command group and Strike Alpha.

It was wrong. It was something so inherently wrong that he didn't realize that he had asked, “Permission to join the op?” at the same time Rogers had done so.

He blinked, glancing over towards Rogers at the same time he did as well, before Carter's, “Captain?” caused both of them to focus back on those around the table.

He saw his counterpart give both of them a calculating look before shrugging, saying, “I could use two super-soldiers on the team.”

“Dismissed then,” Carter stated after a moment. “Roster on my desk before dust-off, Captain.”

“Ma'am.”

As the others began to leave and the room's light was brightened again, Bucky couldn't help but frown as he paused for a moment, glancing over towards the other side of the room, at the other exit where Director Carter and her assistant were making their way towards. Something about that assistant was still making him uneasy, and he still couldn't place the reason why. She looked ordinary, and was quite striking according to his fragments--

There it was... the fragments... and his frowned deepened for just a moment before he felt Rogers' land on his shoulder again, steering him towards the door he had entered through, opposite of where Carter and her assistant were leaving through. Rogers was saying, “Come on, Bucky. If you're up for it, let's go find something to eat--”

He shook his head, saying, “I need some air.”

“Okay,” he heard Rogers say. “Maybe there's a courtyard or something upstairs—we can go up, right, Agent Johnson?”

“Alone,” he said, shrugging Rogers' hand off of his shoulder, and stalked away.

He didn't dare look back, knowing that there was a hurt look on Rogers' face. He knew he had been rude, but at this moment, making amends with Rogers was not his priority. There was something about that assistant that unsettled him greatly, and he needed to figure out why. Not only were the fragments trying to tell him something urgent that he still could not unravel, it was the fact that apart from Rogers and his counterpart, every other person at the table had stared at him in confusion when he had briefed in Russian – except for her. The pretty assistant had formed the facial expression of confusion, but it was her eyes that gave it away – she had understood what he had said.

The assistant had a familiar face from long ago memories; she had been his first mission, his first target as the Winter Soldier: Dottie Underwood.

~~~

“Give him time.”

Steve tore his gaze away from the retreating back of Bucky. It hurt, but he was also disappointed in himself – for momentarily forgetting Sam's warning. “Yeah. I'm trying to heed the advice of a wise friend of mine,” he said, giving Sharon a smile.

Despite the rather hostile introduction during their escape from the HYDRA facility, she had apologized to him after they had landed here. She was wholly different, yet there were some similarities between the Sharon he knew and this one. He still felt something for her, but seeing Peggy alive, active, and well in this world made his heart ache. It made the kiss he had shared with Sharon only what seemed like ages ago feel wrong as well.

Yet, he wasn't sure if it was just his mind and the stress of being in a place where his hopes had come true but were being thoroughly crushed at the same time, that was contributing to his convoluted thoughts. Every familiar action he wanted to take, hugging them, joking with them, even laughing with them, had been held back by the unfamiliarity in their eyes.

He knew most of them, but they didn't know him.

“Still hungry, Captain?” she asked. “I heard that the special is Chef's Surprise.”

There was a glimmer in her eyes that he recognized from the first time he had met her – as his neighbor, and not as Sharon Carter, Agent of SHIELD. “You have questions, don't you?” he asked.

“I suppose that my counterpart in your world had the same look?” she said, nodding once.

“Yeah, but I didn't mind answering them,” he said, feeling his spirits lift a little after what had happened in the briefing, as he took one last look down the hall, seeing Bucky disappear around a corner. Steve knew that he had to do better, to keep himself from giving into his instincts to constantly be at Bucky's side, to heed Sam's advice more thoroughly. It would continue to be a long journey for both of them, but he was glad that there had been some glimmer of hope for their future shown in the Framework.

“To the mess hall then?” he asked, offering his arm and returning his attention to Sharon.

“Oh, an officer _and_ an gentleman,” she laughed, hooking her arm around his.

“Hey, sir! Maybe you can learn some more stuff from Captain Rogers here! Add to your arsenal of suave!” he heard Triplett say and turned slightly, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush up his cheeks.

“What,” the deadpanned flat statement from James caused Steve to laugh a little, while the outright dragging that Johnson had on the sleeve of her CO's uniform caused him to shake his head. If only they knew that he had learned a little from Bucky himself in their reality on how to woo a woman, especially after Bucky had heard just how disastrous his attempt to initially talk to Peggy alone had turned out.

“Come on, sir, at least sit with us and eat,” Johnson said. “This base cannot take two tall, dark, handsome brooding James Barnes. It'll collapse from all the swooning fans.”

“I don't brood, Daisy,” James protested, shaking his arm free, but did not stop and continued to follow the little group down the hall.

The mess hall was fairly empty at this time of day, but at least there was still someone at the cook station, willing to heat up what had been served during the last rush. It was only after they had been seated, and after Johnson, Triplett, and Sharon had traded their opinions on what exactly was the lump of meat on each of their trays, that the first of the reality-differences questions was asked.

“So, rumor has it both within the Framework and here that there was something between you and Director Carter in your reality. True or false?” Johnson asked, waggling her spoon at him.

“When I first met her, she wasn't Director of SHIELD,” Steve said, setting down his fork, smiling slightly. “She was Agent Carter of the SSR, and in charge of evaluating and training all candidates for Project Rebirth. During the war, sorry, World War Two, she was the primary data analyst and code-breaker for the SSR. She was present at every briefing of each mission that the Howling Commandos, the team I commanded, carried out. The data that she gave us helped us survive out there against HYDRA.”

“Howling Commandos,” Triplett spoke up, as Steve saw him grin. “My grandfather was a part of it here. Gabe Jones. Unfortunately, he was KIA in 1955, just before V-E day. Dad used to talk about him a lot.”

“I'm sorry for you and your family's loss,” he answered. “Gabe was a good man, a good radio operator and always made sure that the extract flight team got our coordinates right.”

“So World War Two did happen in your reality, but it ended earlier – 1945, if I remember you saying, right?” Sharon asked. “1986 here and now, and 2016 in your reality.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“But you're evading the question, Cap,” Johnson spoke up, still waggling the spoon at him.

“So I am,” he answered, smiling slightly.

“That's it?” Johnson said, looking slightly crestfallen. “You're just going to leave it there?”

“Daisy,” Sharon spoke up, shaking her head in exasperation, but was smiling to soften the blow. “Gossip does not become you.”

“Gossip is what causes empires to rise and fall,” she answered. “Especially the ones close to your target's heart.”

“Who said that?” Steve couldn't help but ask, as the quote it sounded familiar, but not quite the words that he had expected.

“He did,” Johnson answered, pointing to James, who merely affected an innocent look and shrugged.

“Oh God, that definitely confirms it,” Triplett said, affecting a mock-horror look. “Mr. Suave has a protege.”

At that, Steve could not help but look back and forth between Johnson and James, as he realized something quite profound. He supposed that he was now 2-0 on picking up a better awareness of his surroundings, given not only figuring out Caroline's father, but also the so-called 'water cooler' one-sided conversations that Johnson had fired off at Bucky while in the Framework. At that time, he had wondered just how Bucky had managed to sit there, listening without giving away his opinions or counter arguments to many things Johnson used him as a sounding board for.

Now, having watched James, and hearing Johnson's words in another light, he had a very good idea of the intelligence operative that Bucky had been during the war. It wasn't until that particular November night in 1944, that he had learned that Bucky had been gathering rumors and the like – not only at Headquarters, but also in the field – and had been _reporting_ them to Peggy. That also made Steve realize just how frighteningly observant and effective Bucky had been during the decades he was the Winter Soldier.

“What's up, Captain Rogers?” Triplett asked.

“No, nothing,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I just realized something about my reality that I had never seen a perspective of.”

“All right, let's move it along,” Sharon said, nodding. “I'm sure Captain Rogers doesn't want to answer anything else that personal, Daisy, so let's let it be.”

“Well,” Triplett said as Johnson shrugged, accepting defeat, “I want to know more about what the Howling Commandos did. I mean, there's got to be parallels between the actions you guys took in your war, and here, right? I mean, for one, both realities were fighting HYDRA during the war. Lieutenant Timothy Duggan, or 'DumDum', as my father told me that they called him, was the leader of the Commandos here. He also said that Grandpa thought that Colonel Phillips was a hard-ass, and that then-Agent Carter was a saint to have put up with him for that long.”

Steve couldn't help but laugh at that. “Colonel Phillips was a... difficult man to get along with at times,” he said, nodding slightly. “But when push came to shove, he was definitely the leader who gave us direction and the means to accomplish our task. He knew where to point us, to strike at HYDRA and cripple them so.”

“Was Johann Schmidt the leader of HYDRA in your reality?” Sharon asked.

“He was,” he answered, nodding. “He was known as the Red Skull. He had also taken a preliminary version of the super-soldier serum and transformed himself. He applied his knowledge to the occult, which is where and how we encountered the tesseract-based weapons. It looks like he hadn't developed those kind of weapons during your war?”

“There were rumors,” James spoke up. “Schmidt was known as the 'Red Skull' because of all the experiments he and his team performed during the war. Director Carter had mentioned long ago that there had been rumors just before the end of the war, that Schmidt had recently acquired a dangerous object of the occult of sorts, fished out of the depths of the north Atlantic. No investigation or pursuance was taken because by then, the war had ended. Schmidt had also disappeared.”

“Fished out the depths of the north Atlantic?” he repeated, frowning slightly. “That was where the tesseract in my reality had fallen during Schmidt's last gamble to attack the United States.”

Before he could say anything further, two more people came up to the table they sat at, and it was Campbell, who said while sitting down, “Sorry we're late. Jemma here wouldn't leave her duty station and I had to forcibly drag her out.”

The young woman whom had accompanied Campbell smiled at them in greeting, but Steve noted that it seemed a little forced, as if she were going through the motions of politeness. It was Triplett's reassuring, “Don't worry Jemma, we'll get the old Fitz back.”

“I know,” she answered, her English accent rolling and soft, compared to the hardness within Peggy's accent. “And thanks. It's just... the analysis... there has _got_ to be something biological that HYDRA did to him. Something that can be cured... an application of a targeted virus or something--”

“Jemma,” Johnson spoke up in a surprisingly firm tone as Steve saw her shove her tray down towards the young woman. Campbell had taken the tray and placed it in front of young woman. “Eat. You're not doing Fitz any good if you run yourself ragged like this.”

Out of the corner of his eyes Steve noticed that there was a ghost of a proud look on James' face in reaction to Johnson's words, as he saw the young woman – Jemma – a scientist judging by the white lab coat she wore, look at the food before her. He didn't know what the young scientist's relationship was with Fitz, but it was clear that she cared a lot about the young man.

Two more things became clear to him in that brief moment: first, James not only had taken Johnson under his wing and was training her, but that she was also being trained to eventually lead a Strike Team. The second, and more worrisome realization was that except for him and James, those sitting at the table were _young_. These agents, scientists, and engineers should have had their lives open up before them after college, but instead, had joined or had been recruited into SHIELD – into an organization that in this reality, was almost completely decimated.

“They stay because they believe in SHIELD's mission,” he heard James quietly whisper as the others at the table were trying to get their friend and teammate to eat. Steve glanced over towards him, as he heard him continue, saying, “And because they have no where else to go. They were the only ones that Stevie and her team could rescue when HYDRA attacked the Triskelion.”

Steve looked down at his hands for a moment. He had seen the casualty reports from the downing of the Helicarriers, and the destruction of the Triskelion, and it constantly stayed with him. He had learned to live with it, to grieve, and honor the lives loss by trying to keep the world safe as an Avenger. But now... “I--” he began.

He didn't get to finish his thought as the entire base was plunged into the whoop of alarms and red flashing lights.

~~~

_A few minutes before..._

 

The fact that he knew the ins and outs of the underground bunker from his memories made it a lot easier to slip in and out of the shadows, disappear down empty halls to avoid being seen by the various personnel that walked by, and avoid the scattered security forces. It also made it relatively easy to follow his target, though at the moment, he was standing in the shadows of a hall that was near the office that his target had stepped into.

Quietly stepping a little further back into the shadows as two scientists walked by, chatting about something to do with centipedes, he didn't have to wait very long for his target to emerge. “...we'll be back in a half-hour, I promise, ma'am,” he heard his target say.

He frowned as he saw his target, walk by, with the little girl, Caroline, who had woken him up earlier, primly walking down the corridor with her. His mission had gotten a little more complicated with the girl in the picture. He knew that collateral damage was sometimes inevitable during the missions he had carried out, but at this very moment, he did not want the girl to be involved or anywhere near what he could potentially do.

Though the flame-haired assistant had stated to Director Carter that she would be back in a half-hour with the girl, most likely taking her up for a quick run to a candy shop, something within those words didn't seem to ring true to him. So he slipped out of the shadows of this particular corridor and began to discreetly follow his target again. It wasn't until his target left the more crowded sections of the bunker and further into the quieter sections, that he stepped out of the shadows and began to openly follow her.

To her credit, the assistant didn't even look back once, didn't increase her pace, nor give any indication that she knew that she was being followed. He had a hunch that her destination was the emergency exit that he remembered and knew would take any personnel down through miles of underground railroad tunnels. “Caroline, right?” he called out, as casually as he could make his voice, given the earlier relapse that he had had during the briefing.

The little girl stopped and turned, causing the assistant to stop as well. There was a stubborn set of her jaw, as her pigtails bounced slightly with her movement. With a better look at her face, Bucky could see the clear resemblance between her and Rogers' counterpart. One could even call the little girl the daughter of Rogers himself, if he had any children. There was no fear shining in those wide blue-green eyes of hers, but there was something in them that indicated that she knew something was wrong, just not what.

“You're not my uncle,” she stated, the same words he had woken up to as he approached, trying to make himself walk not in a threatening manner, to mainly not frighten the girl.

“Yes, her name is Caroline, Sergeant Barnes,” the assistant said as he reached them. “May I help you, sir?”

“I just wanted to thank her for waking me up from my nightmare, ma'am,” he said, briefly searching the assistant's eyes to catch any hint that would settle his unease, being this close to her. Finding none, it was a great effort for him to control his instincts and to not lash out at the assistant right then and there as he crouched down and faced the little girl.

Holding out his good hand, he saw her the girl hesitate for just a moment before letting go of the assistant's hand and placed her pudgy palm in his own. Maintaining the calm expression on his face was even more difficult when he saw her silently mouth, 'Don't wanna go'.

He silently took a deep breath – he had put himself in a very vulnerable position, but there was no other way to get the girl, an innocent, away. Curling his hand around the girl's own as if he were shaking her hand, he said, “Run,” and immediately pulled her behind him.

He heard her scream, just as he let go of her hand and crossed his arms above his head in the nick of time. He could feel the intense heat blistering his good arm, and the ground shaking boom that echoed across the halls, as he looked up to see that his metal arm, held forefront of his good arm had stopped the woman's glowing fist from smashing into his head. It looked like her hand was on fire or was about to become wreathed in flames. Tiny fissures crawl up her curled fist, glowing through the clothes she wore and wove up her neck.

Whatever the hell she was, it was clear that he had to keep her as far away as possible from the little girl. He risked a quick glance back, just in time to see several semi-transparent, blue-hued walls shoot across the hall and area they were currently in. He was trapped in this area with the woman, and while that was fine by him, Caroline had not run far enough down the hall. She was as trapped as he and the woman were.

Growling as the heat beating down on his arms grew, he had to get the woman away. Twisting himself towards the ground, he threw her off balance, feeling the scrape of her glowing arm brush ever so slightly across the side of his face, burning him. It was enough though, for him to twist back, grab her by the front of her clothes, lock her arms to her side and heave her away from him – away from Caroline.

She smashed into and through several glass walls that separated offices in this area, stopping only when she hit a brick support column. He stalked after her, knowing that it was not enough to knock her out – not according to his memories, and definitely not according to whatever the hell made her glow like an ember. He didn't even wait for her to roll up from her 'play dead' routine and lashed out, kicking her square in the stomach, lifting her a meter off the ground.

Cat-like and faster than what he remembered, she immediately curled on her self and landed on her feet. He was already charging in again, grabbing the nearest object he could find on an unbroken table. Smashing the clipboard against her glowing fist, he followed up the feint with his metal hand curled into a tight fist, hitting her squarely across the face.

She didn't even flinch.

Instead, her eyes began to glow red, as Bucky's own widened, seeing her entire body, including her face and neck, begin to angrily glow under the torn clothing she wore. There was a hungry, demonic look in her eyes, as black cracks spidered up her neck and face, that caused him to back up a step. For one fleeting moment, he knew that he was definitely in way over his head. Just as that thought crossed his mind, she charged.

~~~

“I can quake it loose, sir!”

“No, don't!” Steve shouted over the whooping alarms as the ground shook again, rocking them slightly. “It's already too unstable.”

All they could hear was the sound of things crashing around in the labs that were within the lockdown area. Occasionally, some scattered piece of a silver tray or a table leg flew out of the area where Bucky was fighting whatever had caused the lockdown. They had to disable the force field, not only to get to Bucky and help him, but to also get little Caroline, and Peggy's assistant Dottie, out of harm's way.

“Caroline!” he heard James shout over the blaring alarms, banging on the force field with a fist, trying to get the little girl's attention. Steve could see that that girl was curled up against the force field, covering her ears and eyes, completely terrified and frightened. “Caroline!” James repeated again, and this time, the little girl seemed to have heard him, as Steve saw her look up, eyes full of tears.

“Move that way!” he barely heard James say, but saw him gesture towards a table that had skittered out of the labs sometime during the fight before any of them had arrived. The security response team, along with Triplett and the others were already leveling their guns and rifles at the edges of the brick walls where the semi-transparent force field bled into. Caroline needed to move away from the force field, lest the possible ricochet from the bullets biting into the brick walls hit her.

“ICER, Captain Rogers,” he heard Peggy say to him as he was handed a small gun that looked like it had pale blue cartridges in it. “We capture whatever it is, alive, Captain--”

A tremendous crash, eclipsing the terrified scream of Caroline, cut off whatever else Peggy was going to say as Steve saw Bucky fly into and smash the table and brick wall only a few feet away from the girl. Parts of his clothing were torn or burnt, he was bleeding freely from multiple wounds, and his good arm looked completely blistered. Force field or not, Steve was already running towards it, as he saw him curl up ever so slightly, before forcing himself to stand up, despite the numerous injuries he had sustained. Steve clenched his jaw; he couldn't just stand here, watching his best friend get beaten up--

However, it was what emerged from the brief swirl of dust that had followed that stopped him in his tracks. A woman, no, the same woman who was Peggy's assistant, with flame-red hair, emerged, languidly stalking towards Bucky like a predator. Her clothes were shredded in some places, but it was the fact that her entire body was glowing beneath it, as if she were a piece of burning charcoal that still contained fire was as amazing as it was utterly frightening.

“Centipede,” he heard someone stutter.

“Caroline, don't touch that!” he heard James yell, just before he saw out of the corner of his eyes, the little girl reach towards an obsidian black rock of sorts that had rolled out of whatever casing it had been locked in. It was too late though, as a blinding light emerged from where the little girl had placed her hand on the object. The momentary blindness that enveloped the area disappeared as quickly as it had come, but where the obsidian rock had been was something completely unexpected.

There was a woman kneeling on the floor, with shoulder-length light brown hair falling partially across her face, clad in a light blue-green, black, and silver uniform with an eight-pointed silver star emblem on the center of her chest. Caroline was still there, but even she was staring up at the woman with a puzzled look. Her arrival had also caused Bucky and the transformed Dottie to pause for a moment in their fight – with both staring at her.

It was only when her eyes snapped open – blue-green in color – that Steve felt a chill run through him. That chill was further amplified not a split second later when she _flew_ from her crouched position and slammed straight into the transformed Dottie. Even with the alarms still blaring, Steve distinctly heard the impact. A second later, the ground roiled again and the alarms fell silent.

The force field surrounding the labs began to splutter, as out of the massive dust cloud that had come rolling out of the area where they had last seen Dottie and the mysterious woman, they saw a figure emerge. Even with the barriers spluttering, Steve found that they still could not cross it, as evident with one of the security forces yelping when she burned her hand in an attempt to step beyond it. First on the scene was Bucky, who had immediately turned to face the shadows approaching from the dust cloud, his bewildered expression melting that of a wary one.

However, Steve, saw him drop his arms and guard a moment later, stepping to the side just as the mysterious woman emerged from the dust cloud, dragging Peggy's assistant behind her. “I had her on the ropes,” he heard Bucky growl, eyes tracking the woman as she passed him.

“Sure you did,” the woman said just as casually, smirking.

There was no more argument as Bucky stepped in behind the two, following, and Steve knew then that Dottie was dead. Even at this distance the mysterious woman approaching looked a lot like Stevie—no, his eyes turned towards Caroline, wide-eyed—the woman looked exactly like the little girl, except older.

She stopped before the spluttering force field and let her eyes roam around the perimeter for a brief moment. She then raised her arm and punched the field. The ground roiled again, and dust and small bits of concrete and brick rained down from the ceiling upon them, as the force field gave one last heave and died. “Sorry about that,” she said, sliding the dead body of Peggy's assistant towards them.

“Caroline?” he heard James hesitatingly ask.

“It's Carol, at least in the future,” she answered, giving him a sad smile. “One time use, and I think she's going to be all right.” Carol turned towards where little Caroline was still sitting on the ground, staring up at her possible future self and extended a hand forward. Steve didn't know why he braced himself for the possibility of something explosive happening, but fortunately, nothing happened when little Caroline took Carol's hand.

Carol led her forward and James took the half-frightened girl from her, who then wrapped herself around James' leg and buried her face in his knee. “Don't lose hope,” she said, directing her words to James. “You will find her.”

“Captain Rogers,” Carol said, turning slightly towards him, as Steve blinked and saw that his eyes were not deceiving him – Carol was fading away. “The Mad Titan is moving, bringing his kingdom of ashes and dust. When all hope seems lost, look to the stars. Help is coming.”

“The Mad Titan?” he questioned, but it was too late as Carol disappeared.

Nothing remained, not even the obsidian stone. Steve could only stare at the spot where she had occupied it mere seconds ago; the Avengers had broken their fellowship, yet he could not shake the feeling that the cryptic threat that she had mentioned was not false. Ever since Loki had invaded Earth with the Chitauri forces, Steve had a deep-seated, never spoken out loud feeling that Earth not only entered a higher plane of warfare, but had made itself a target within the galaxy.

Something was coming, that he was sure of from what Thor had seen, but how long did Earth have until it arrived?

* * *

It was the rather screechy, scratchy sound that issued from the tiny speakers on Johnson's laptop, that broke the monotonous silence and the beeps of the machines within the medical bay. Bucky's lips twitched slightly; it was almost as terrible as DumDum's drunk singing.

Because of the damage done during the fight, some caused by him and the assistant throwing each other into walls and support structure, and others caused by Carol's arrival and subsequent beat-down of the assistant, over half of the base had to be evacuated to the front-most section, with the emergency exit area sealed off. Seventy-five percent of the 0-8-4s SHIELD kept in that area of the labs had also had to be moved to a more stable location, without activating any of them. That meant that no private recovery rooms were available – not that Bucky thought he needed one, he was fine sitting in the general med bay while Campbell stitched him up.

He had been initially surprised that the Inhuman on Strike Team Charlie was a medical doctor, but immediately grew wary when Campbell mentioned that his specialty was neurosurgery. However, it seemed because SHIELD had an immense shortage of doctors, Campbell became more of a general surgeon than applying his acumen to his former specialty.

“Holy crap, I think I just saw him smile!” Johnson's exclamation broke into his thoughts, causing him to glance over at her and frown. “Aw man,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “Now you're doing the tall, dark, broody thing again.”

He blinked in confusion, just as he heard his counterpart say from where he was situated next to the medical bed that Caroline was resting in, “Please turn that screechy violin off, Daisy.”

“But it's like a funeral here, sir,” she protested, but did comply with the request.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Campbell shake his head slightly in exasperation as he returned his attention to what the doctor was doing. Finished with his work, he saw him put down his instruments before saying, “I'd recommend no strenuous activities, but if you're anything like Captain Barnes, you'll just ignore my advice. Just keep in mind that your stitches will rip if you don't give your accelerated healing a chance to do its work first.”

He nodded as the Inhuman doctor handed him a fresh shirt, saying, “Thank you.”

His torn and burnt combat trousers had been replaced with a fresh pair earlier, after the doctor had stitched up whatever wounds had been inflicted on the lower part of his body. The blisters that had formed had disappeared; his accelerated healing already scabbing over new skin and flaking off the old one. It was taking a little longer to heal the open wounds that were stitched, mainly because of how deep and numerous they were. Still, he didn't think that they were anything compared to what had happened to his metal arm.

After he pulled the black t-shirt over his body, he flexed his metal arm and looked at his hand. The transformed woman had burnt all of the shell casing, the sleek black carbon-fibre look it had, off, leaving only the gleaming silver, vibranium hull remaining – the actual metal under the glamorous hard-coating of paint. Most of it had been covered in soot, and he had not known that the coating had been removed until Campbell had taken a cloth to wipe a part of the arm clean to check for any mechanical damage. Even though there was no red star emblazoned on the upper part of his metal arm, the fragments of memories were sitting at the forefront of his mind. It would always be a part of him, he knew that, but the arm--

“Got the hard drive from her laptop, Quake,” Triplett's voice and the opening of the doors into the medical bay caused him to look up to see Triplett, Rogers, and Agent Carter enter. Director Carter was nowhere to be seen, and he had to assume that she was elsewhere, trying to contain, cleanup, and plan the next steps. “Bitch tried to burn--” Triplett continued.

“Language!” Rogers immediately admonished, before stopping where he was, as Bucky saw his eyes focus on the metal arm, and a frown appear on his face.

Triplett had also stopped and pointed to the arm asking, “Uh... wasn't that supposed to be black or something like a sleek like a sexy Ferrari?”

“Bad paint job,” he stated, raising his arm slightly while causing Johnson to snort in laughter.

There was no such laughter in Rogers' eyes, but Bucky ignored the concern behind those eyes. He focused on Triplett, who had tossed Johnson the hard drive. Carter had gone over to where his counterpart was, and said something to cause him to rise up from where he was sitting and approach the group that was forming around the table Johnson had situated herself at. He watched as she plugged in the hard drive to both power and data cords. A screen popped up on the hard-light projection in the middle of the table.

A few minutes passed, with the only sound of Johnson typing on her keyboard filling the air. “All right, Dottie Underwood,” she muttered after another few minutes. “Let's see what skeletons you have in your closet.”

Johnson hit the 'enter' key on her keyboard and several fragmented files filled the screen. While most looked like they were mundane conversations between personnel, recorded conversations on the phone transcribed into text, or otherwise perfectly normal things, Bucky saw his counterpart and Carter take a hold of the projections. Both of them flitted through many files at a time, eyes moving quickly and methodically. It took a few minutes for the two to go through whatever could be recovered, but they finally whittled it down to two fragments.

Los Angeles—Phoenix—Houston—St. Louis—Atlanta—Richmond—Baltimore—New York City, was what the first fragment read. The second was a dossier, the age, name, and a clipping of a background that Dottie Underwood was to take.

“We're nowhere near New York City,” Triplett stated. “Hell, no one has been to New York City in over two years. “And what's this working as a telephone operator--”

“She's a former Black Widow,” he interrupted, causing Triplett to fall silent. He frowned slightly, but it was only because the fragments he pieced together were still somewhat incomplete and a little confusing to even himself.

“ _A_ Black Widow?” Johnson questioned, “what, like a title? I thought it was a program?”

“Here yes,” he heard his counterpart nod, giving him an indecipherable look. “Romanov is the only survivor of that HYDRA training program, and adopted it as her call sign. What was it in your reality, Sergeant?”

“James, please don't--” Rogers began, protesting.

“A title,” he answered, overriding whatever else Rogers was going to say and ignoring the unhappy look that Rogers was giving him. “Only the best female agent from the Red Room program was able to claim it. The Black Widow had to defend the title with her life, not only in the field, but within the Red Room itself against other contenders. When a Widow lost her title to a new agent, and if she survived the loss of the title, I was then sent to kill her. HYDRA and the Soviets did not look favorably on any Widow who lost the title and survived, because they were afraid of any Widow defecting to the West.”

“How many?” he heard his counterpart ask in the silence that followed his explanation.

“Twenty-three,” he quietly answered. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova was the final Widow the Soviets trained. She killed her predecessor, and was the only one who successfully defected with SHIELD's help.” He paused for a moment before glancing down at the table, asking, “Is there a forensic analysis of the body yet, Agent Carter?”

“Retrieving,” Carter answered, her hands running across the hard light-projected keyboard. “What's going through your mind, Sergeant?”

“A bad feeling,” he answered, looking down at his hands resting on the table, tenting his fingers ever so briefly.

“Well,” Triplett said after a few moments, as Bucky looked back up to see that there were a few files projected onto the center panel. “Looks like the usual case for blunt force trauma to how she died, ecetera, ecetera—okay... that's odd.” He saw the agent poke at the projection, pulling a scribbled note on the side of a body diagram file and highlight a line on it.

“Subject appears to have had a break between the C4 and C5 thoracic spine that looks to have fused?” Campbell spoke up, looking confused. “That's supposed to kill someone. Permanently. Even the Centipede serum isn't supposed to resurrect someone with that kind of break.”

“It did,” he quietly answered as the bad feeling he had grew, as he stared at the post-mortem picture of the Black Widow formerly aliased as Dottie Underwood. “1947. I had orders to kill her because she failed in her mission to kill Agent Peggy Carter of the SSR and Howard Stark in New York City.” He could feel Rogers' piercing eyes on him, but didn't dare look at him. “I snapped her neck between those two vertebrae. For good measure, I put two holes into her chest. She was dead.”

“Old scarring tissue...” Triplett whispered, bringing up another file and a post-mortem x-ray picture that showed not only the break in the spinal area, but also two holes in her chest puncturing bone.

“What the hell are we dealing with?” Johnson whispered, looking a little horrified. “No 0-8-4 can transport people through time in two separate years, and revive the dead, can it?”

“Dottie became Aunt Peggy—I mean, Director Carter's assistant five years ago,” Carter stated, frowning as she tapped her chin with a finger. “It's possible that this 0-8-4 was used twice on the same reality. We did lose control over it seven years ago.”

“How long were you a HYDRA agent, Sergeant?” he heard his counterpart suddenly ask.

“1947 until 2014,” he quietly answered. “Spent most of it on ice. Wasn't usually woken up unless they needed the firepower, until 1991--” He abruptly fell silent as a thought hit him. It was slightly far-fetched, but considering Agent Fitz's words, the beginnings of a cryogenic device being developed in HYDRA's Framework, the silo where he and Rogers had been had been transported – that same silo where he had killed Dottie Underwood – and the chaos in the aftermath of the fall of the Soviet state, it was plausible.

“1991?” he heard his counterpart question.

“Hey, that's enough!” Rogers angrily stated. “Stop it with the questions, James.”

_We're not done with the Winter Soldier._

“Where's Agent Fitz being held?” he asked instead.

“That _was_ a threat against you,” he heard his counterpart begin, as he saw the same realization in his eyes, that same conclusion that he had arrived at his own mind. “Shit, Madam Hydra—AIDA _did_ deliberately transport both of you via a 0-8-4--”

He didn't quite understand what his counterpart was talking about, but he was glad that his counterpart was nearly of the same mind – in that nothing else was said except for the action taken. Following his counterpart out of the med bay and down the halls, he heard the others scrambling behind him. However, like his counterpart, he ignored their questions. Since their exit out of the Framework and not into an aircraft that both he and Rogers had been led to believe that they were on, he had long suspected that someone HYDRA or rogue SHIELD agents had manipulated whatever 0-8-4 to bring them here.

But this... the taunt, the words spoken by Agent Fitz, worried him more than the need to find a way home. The words, as threatening as they were on an individual level, did not affect him. It was the meaning behind those words--

“Open that door, now, Lieutenant!” he heard his counterpart order in a terse tone.

The hall they were traveling down into was quite empty except for the armed guards standing on either end of the cell block, holding high-powered rifles.

“Sir,” the nearest guard began, looking extremely nervous, but smartly decided it was better for him to not be on the receiving end of anything untoward.

Were he not still injured, were he not aware that Rogers and the others were catching up and that Rogers had not called out his name but wore an extremely concerned look, Bucky would have already knocked both guards out and broken the door open. He refrained from doing so, not just because of Rogers' presence, but also because this was a shelter, a haven, and possibly the only place that could protect Rogers – if his hunch as to what was coming was correct.

He saw, out of the corner of his eyes, just as he entered the cell block, the other guard talking into a com, most likely alerting Director Carter to what they were doing. Walking in, he deliberately slowed down his pace, and stopped at the first intersection between the main hall and the smaller halls. “Where?” he asked, holding out his arm to prevent his counterpart from moving forward and past him.

“Fifth row, sixteenth cell,” he heard his counterpart state. “Clear your hunch, Sergeant, then I'll clear mine.”

“Yours might be completely irrelevant, if what I'm about to confirm is true,” he stated, and walked forward.

The entire cell block was no bigger than the general medical bay, with each hall no bigger than a standard locker room's rows. Each cell was about three lockers wide, just as tall, and just as deep – designed to make a prisoner extremely uncomfortable and claustrophobic. He reached the row and cell that was given to him, and found the young agent sitting on the stone slab within the cell that acted like his bed and chair, rather attentively.

“Good morning, Soldier,” the young man stated, giving him an unkind, almost predatory smile.

“Michael Walker, Alexander Smith, Katherine Rosen, Andrew Gunn, Nicholas Morris,” he stated.

“Good, strong, Anglo-European names,” he heard him say in a mocking tone before pausing and nodding once. “But you know them as Mikhail, Alexandr, Katarina, Andrei, and Nikolai, don't you, Winter Soldier? Those were the names on their original files.”

The young man paused for a moment, looking as if a thought had just occurred to him, before he said, “Perhaps you should ask Captain Rogers about Mr. Walker, Mr. Smith, Ms. Rosen, Mr. Gunn, and Mr. Morris. I'm sure he can tell you more about them than I could.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Doctor?”

Bucky glanced over to see that his counterpart had approached and was now standing next to him with his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced back towards Agent Fitz, but it seemed that the young man was done talking for now, as the smirk he wore on his face indicated that he would no longer comply. He turned and left, and not surprisingly, his counterpart followed. Silently gesturing for Rogers, who had entered with Carter standing next to him, to go out, the four of them left.

As soon as the door closed, he was not surprised to see Director Carter making her way down, and decided to wait for her to arrive. It was better that she hear this anyways, as he was not sure if he would be able to speak of it a second time. Before Director Carter could get a word in, he heard his counterpart ask Rogers, “You heard the names, Steve. Who are they?”

“They were the five names I randomly picked from the ten dossiers that Agent Fitz wanted for HYDRA's Project Rebirth,” Rogers answered, looking puzzled and concerned at the same time.

“What were the other five names?” he asked before his counterpart could continue.

“Nat's name was among the dossiers, but she was already pre-approved for the Project by Madam Hydra. John Berg, Anne Haas, Peter Franklin, and Greg McQueen.”

“Иван, Анна, Петр, Грегори. Наталия,” he said, frowning. “I think I know what HYDRA is...was after, Steve,” he said after a moment, looking up.

“Those ten names, including Natasha, they were all Red Room agents. All were trained by me. All ten were given those aliases during their training to begin infiltrating into different countries. Only five were selected to continue onto the Winter Soldier Program: Michael Walker, Alexander Smith, Katherine Rosen, Andrew Gunn, Nicholas Morris. They were the same five who were frozen in those cryo tubes at the silo. HYDRA... here, they're or were after the other five Winter Soldiers in our reality, and I think they got them.”

Confusion flitted across Rogers' face before he said, “But they were dead. Zemo put a bullet in their heads before we even got to the silo.”

“LMDs?” Johnson spoke up, before noticing the confusion on both his and Rogers' faces. “Life model decoys. Director Coulson is one... oh yeah... you guys never met him before. Well, he is one, an android created by Stark Tech made to look as real as the person it's imitating. The original Coulson was killed when HYDRA took the Triskelion a few years ago.”

“How real?” Rogers asked.

“You shoot one in the head several times and if you see wires or metal, it's a LMD,” Triplett answered. “It was a spin off from the med prosthetic tech and AI research that Stark had been conducting a few years ago. Very expensive to produce, but getting Director Coulson back was worth the cost.”

“What's the rationale behind your theory of them stealing these candidates, Sergeant?” Bucky heard his counterpart ask, focusing the discussion back on the matter at hand.

“They weren't candidates,” he answered, suppressing the wince that threatened to erupt from the sudden onslaught of a headache. He had some of the memories of the five, when he had told Rogers and Wilson after waking up from his cognitive recalibration via helicopter. However, not all of it had been slotted into place, due to him trying to remember what Zemo had asked him about the 1991 mission report. With his memories organizing themselves at a faster rate, he remembered more of it now.

“They were augmented by the recreation of the super-soldier serum that Howard Stark had developed in 1991,” he continued. “Before that, they were the best strike team the Soviets could put together. They've toppled regimes overnight, spoke several languages each, and were able to infiltrate and exfiltrate better than a Widow. After that... the serum made them nearly invincible. Thirty-three people died in that silo before it was flooded with gas to sedate them enough for binds to be put on them. Thirteen more were killed as they were being put to ice. The gas burned through them in less than five minutes.”

“Goddamn,” Johnson stated in the silence that followed.

“The Black Widow aliased as Dottie Underwood was killed in the same silo that Zemo trapped Steve, Tony Stark, and I in. That was also the same silo that all five of the other Winter Soldiers were kept in on ice and trained in. I was kept there as well, until the fall of the Soviet Union,” he said after another few moments of silence. “Karpov, our handler, was the only one who knew where the five were – he disappeared after HYDRA moved their operations. No one reactivated those five for over two decades until Zemo got there.”

“Given that we know there is a time dilation or a compression-expansion difference between our reality and yours,” Director Carter spoke up in the silence that followed his words, “the length of time between the deployment and retrieval of this 0-8-4 that transported both of you here could have very well have remained there. Or considering the facts, could have always had a presence there. Either one of you or others could have walked into it without knowing about it, and HYDRA here could have actively used it to go through. It would certainly explain how a displaced and supposed-to-be-dead 1947 HYDRA agent walked into my office.”

“And where a lot of advance tech like the Centipede serum came from,” Triplett followed up.

“You could live days, weeks in one, and only a few minutes would have passed in another reality,” Bucky heard his counterpart say, “HYDRA could have taken a peek every so often, see how much and what type of tech has developed in different realities, steal if necessary, and bring it back to ours. It would also explain _how_ they had the upper hand, stormed the Triskelion, and convinced the world that they were not the bad guys.”

“Watch both SHIELD and HYDRA fall in our reality, take that back and spin it into a story that your people swallow in the name of freedom?” Rogers spoke up, his tone incredibly bitter. “Then why would they need five other Winter Soldiers, when they control the world?”

“Because they're done with this world,” Bucky heard his counterpart say, as he met his eyes with his own – both of them were now definitely of the same mind, same theory, and same understanding.

He nodded once, and heard his counterpart continue, saying, “SHIELD here is not a threat to them anymore. Not when they've destroyed all of the other cells, and have Stevie. They have you stuck here, and they actively tried to kill Sergeant Barnes here – twice. Even if what you told them are half-truths of what happened in your reality, they know it's vulnerable. Once they finish refining that Inhuman-Super Soldier formula, I think they're going to cross over and conquer your world.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	12. Memory: девять

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**девять** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

“Aw, come on, this is not fair!”

“Cap, you gotta do something! Barnes knows us too well!”

“I'm just as stuck as you guys are,” Steve answered, shrugging as he sat hunched slightly by the campfire and stretched his hands towards the fire, as if he were about to roast his hands on the fire. “He's known me since childhood. We'll just have to do better, pool our resources to defeat him.”

Bucky snorted in laughter as he reached over to accept Morita's trousers. Neatly folding it, he added it to the stack of clothing that he had already won from the other Commandos. He had already won nine times, and had not lost even once when either questioning or was being questioned.

Out of all of them, including Steve, both Morita and DumDum were the only ones who had been stripped almost completely naked in the game they played. The two were sitting on the logs around the campfire with only their shorts to cover what was left of their modesty. The rest, including Steve, and excluding himself, were in various states of undress, though Bucky had been the only one to manage to pick out all of the lies that Steve told in the game. He wasn't exactly sure if the other Commandos were just completely terrified of calling out Steve in his lies, or they were pretty terrible at guessing the truth whenever it was Steve's turn.

What had started out as a mostly innocent challenge of 'confessing' an embarrassing story from the days of yore from the Commandos had turned into this game of having each of them tell each other simple statements. One of the others would have to determine if the statement was true or a lie. Then DumDum had decided to up the ante by issuing the challenge for them to strip a piece of clothing each time they lost.

Considering the amount of bugs that swarmed the area outside the campfire, that challenge was met with a hearty call. Bucky smirked; if only the rest of them had known what they were getting into...Steve included. They all knew that Steve was a terrible liar, hell Steve even knew that himself, but thus far, he had held up against the onslaught of the Commandos. It was also why Bucky questioned whether or not DumDum and the others were terrified of beating their commander in the 'game'.

Bucky had no compulsion to lose to Steve – as far as he was concerned, it was equal opportunity truth-lie for him, and he wasn't going to let Steve win anyways. Sure, each truth-lie statement that Steve had said mainly dealt with the time in which none of them had been present – his enlistment and training for Project Rebirth, but Bucky had been able to discern the truth and lie quite easily. His own challenge was making sure his own statements were carefully crafted, after all, he had gone through basic training with the rest of the Howling Commandos, grew up with Steve, and now served with all of them in the same group.

Leaning back slightly, he opened his arms in a slightly challenging manner and said, “Have at it. I'll even let you pick the time frame and subject, though I have to warn you, I really don't remember anything before I was six.”

“Okay,” Jones spoke up. “Time frame: prohibition. What was your father doing?”

“Smuggling liquor across state borders while evading federal agents,” he stated, grinning.

His grin got even wider as he saw the others' faces drop in confusion. DumDum looked as if he wanted to laugh and say that it was absurd, but Jones had a furrowed look on his face. Even Steve looked slightly confused, and Bucky knew why. Steve had never met the Barnes patriarch in person and only heard of him until seeing him at the funeral. Bucky had greatly preferred that Steve never met his father, mostly because he hated his father and didn't want anything to do with him. He had to admit to himself that he had been pleased when his father died, but there were times in which he had seen his mother send a prayer or two over the graveside of her husband.

“Cap?” Dernier asked.

“I...I honestly don't know,” Steve answered, shrugging. “I've never met Bucky's father.”

“Times ticking, Jones,” Bucky said after a few moments. “What's your answer?”

He saw Jones give him a shrewd look as the others murmured their own opinions, before saying, “Truth.”

“False,” he answered, a full grin blossoming. “He was smuggling liquor across state borders, but he was not evading federal agents. He was evading the New Jersey mob.”

“Jesus,” DumDum exclaimed, looking horrified and impressed at the same time. “A grain of truth within a lie. You're too good at this, Barnes.”

“Boys, boys,” Falsworth spoke up in a calming manner, “I think we've discovered just how Sergeant Barnes here is able to charm all of the ladies back at headquarters. Think of this as a lesson from the master charmer himself.”

At this Bucky laughed, shaking his head slightly in exasperation, as did a couple of the others. There were tears in Steve's eyes as Bucky saw him laughing as well, nearly doubling over. Soon the entire camp was filled with laughter and it was only after a few minutes that it finally died down. “It takes more than just sweet words to woo a dame, Monty,” he managed to say.

“All right, who's the next victim?” DumDum spoke up after a few moments.

“You just volunteered yourself,” Steve pointed out.

So another round began, and by the end of it, Bucky was in possession of all of Morita and DumDum's clothes. The two were grumbling about the bugs that were already swarming near them, and attempted to scoot closer to the fire without dragging their naked selves too harshly on the ground they were sitting on. Since neither had any clothing left to give, they were effectively out of the game, though however, it did not stop either of them from whispering things to the others as it was Bucky's turn to face questioning.

He caught Steve's amused look over towards him as he saw the other Commandos leaning in with each other, furiously whispering. Shrugging, he watched as Steve leaned back, putting his arms over his head in a relaxed manner, which meant that he would be staying out of this round. Returning his attention to the odd cabal, Bucky waited patiently and wondered what they were going to ask him.

Soon, the cabal parted, and it was Falsworth who asked, “It's a little personal, but honestly, we don't know how to defeat you, so we'll ask anyways. I hope you don't mind the question or have it reflect badly on us.”

“Uh... sure?” he answered, slightly puzzled. All of the questions that had been flung between all of them had been personal. He wondered what made this one different.

“What is the name of the first girl you slept with?” Falsworth asked.

Bucky blinked in surprise, catching out of the corner of his eyes, Steve's sudden interest as he saw his friend sit up a little straighter. Of all the questions, that was one he truly had not expected. Sure the other questions had been a more on the tamer side, but everything had been good-nature and teasing thus far – how many girls dated or danced with, first kisses, school yard fights, pranks played, bullies beaten...

If there was at least one thing he never discussed with Steve, it was what happened after the dates. Most of the girls would leave Steve alone and Bucky knew that Steve went home after that. He sometimes stayed at the dance halls, but most of the time, would leave with the girls shortly after Steve left. Usually, he would drop the girls off at their homes, and the next morning, Steve would ask about the rest of his night. He would tell him that it went well. A few times, he and the girl he dated would stay up all night dancing, and he would leave it to Steve's imagination to go wild on that – especially when he would drag himself to work the next morning looking and feeling extremely tired.

“Never slept with any girl,” he stated.

Silence answered his statement.

“He's lying,” Morita said after a few moments. “Look at him, he's lying.”

“He's just trying to protect the modesty of the girl,” DumDum chimed in. “That's really sweet.”

The argument between the Commandos was entertaining to say the least, but it was the heat of the scrutinizing look that he felt coming from Steve that caused him to glance over towards him. There was clearly a puzzled look on Steve's face, but his eyes were doing that searching look again. It was the same look he remember Steve giving him that time where he had fallen into contaminated water and had to rush to a river to clean himself of it and hope that it had not affected him. However, Steve was true to his word, or rather, gesture – he wasn't saying a damn word or helping the others.

“It's a lie,” Falsworth declared after the cabal had broken again.

“I'll take that shirt, Monty,” he answered.

Silence, again, answered his statement.

“Cap?” DumDum asked, breaking the silence.

“Give him the shirt, Falsworth,” Steve said in a solemn tone. “And don't ever ask that kind of question again.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**девять** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	13. добросердечный (Benign)

 

**Chapter 7: добросердечный (Benign)**

 

“Secure channel two,” Steve heard James state to Triplett as the door between the cockpit and the cargo bay swished open. Though his words were a little muffled behind the full oxygen mask he was wearing, the words were clear.

Steve breathed deeply into his own oxygen supply, as he sat hunched over on his jump seat, watching and waiting for the go signal. Rather than wait for the channels to clear, Peggy had ordered Strike Team Bravo to go as soon as the debrief had concluded. Time was against them; they still had yet to pinpoint where Madam Hydra, or AIDA, as she was known in the real-world, was. They also had to try to find out where the formula and the five super-soldiers were being kept. To do so, they now had to play into the hands of HYDRA, to spring the traps that were put out, but to also beat those traps.

It had been Triplett who had suggested the idea of them HALOing into the staged crash site. Steve had heard of the concept, but had never done it before. He had only parachuted from a few thousand feet in the air into Azzano – this was dropping and free falling from over 25,000 ft in the air, and not pulling the chute until well below 2,000 feet. As dangerous and as risky as it was, it was, however, the fastest way for Strike Team Bravo to get into the UAE without going through diplomatic or back channels.

Yet it would only be him, along with Johnson and James who would be dropping. Despite wanting to bench Bucky because of his injuries, Steve refrained from stating it. He knew that even if he wanted Bucky to stay behind, his best friend was stubborn as hell and wouldn't stay behind even with an order. Steve knew that as injured as Bucky was at the moment, something was driving him, giving him more focus than the initial one of finding a way home. Steve wanted to point to the fact that five Winter Soldiers running loose in this world was the primary driver, but it didn't completely sit well with him. There had been the strangest of intensity, of a clarity in Bucky's eyes when he had spoken about his experiences and memories as a HYDRA agent – as if he wanted him, Steve, to know what he had done, to understand why, how, and who he was.

It was then, that he realized that he had never explicitly stated to Bucky that other than choosing him over Stark, in that silo, that he accepted what Bucky had done during his seven decades as an operative for HYDRA. Bucky still had doubts, still wondered why he was 'worth it', and to his chagrin, Steve knew that he had never told him that absolute – his unconditional acceptance of who Bucky was and what he had done. Unfortunately, there had been no time to pull him aside and tell him all of that. Even now, with Bucky sitting next to him, also going through the oxygen pre-breathe with the others, as the cockpit would also lose some pressure during the cargo hold decompression, Steve did not want to say that private or personal of a thing over an open com.

It seemed that James had also refrained from benching Bucky, and instead suggested that Bucky take the co-pilot position, and man the rotary cannon during the extract. At the moment though, Steve watched as James merely had to glance over towards Bucky, and Bucky silently respond to the unsaid order to take position in the cockpit. It was slightly uncanny to him, to see the two communicate as so – as if both knew what the other was thinking.

“Don't do anything stupid while we're gone, Steve,” Bucky's voice crackled over the secured channel, just as the light in the cargo bay turned red, indicating that they were thirty seconds away from drop. Depressurization of the cargo hold to the current atmosphere levels at their altitude was also beginning with that light.

Standing up and making his way aft to where James and Johnson were, he couldn't help but laugh. “How can I?” he questioned, as he also couldn't help but smile at the bittersweet memory that surfaced. That particular day had truly been the last day either of them had had a 'normal' life. “You're taking it with you.”

_Punk_ , he could hear the affectionate insult echo in his memories, just as the light in the cargo hold turned green.

_Jerk_ , he remembered answering the insult with his usual retort, as the bay doors opened, and he, along with the other two of Strike Team Bravo jumped.

Closing his eyes for a moment as he let the memory wash over him and fade from his conscious thought, he opened his eyes again and stilled his mind, focusing on the mission ahead. He could see the curvature of the Earth, and even though it was nighttime where they were free falling into, the pinpoints of the various lights from the various cities that dotted the edge of the Persian Gulf gave them a good indicator of where they were going. It was in the southeast desert of the UAE that they were dropping into, as he curled himself into a straight-down position as best as he could, accelerating and hurtling down with the other two.

The mental timer in his mind was counting down the seconds until they could arrest their fall, as they had to get through radar range before they could engage chutes. Each of them had a simple altimeter strapped to their wrists, but no advanced tech was active at the moment. That meant that there was no HUD that counted down their freefall or location. Everything was done with sight from what they could see, from the altimeter, and the mental timing calculation. Any active advanced tech beyond com systems upon them could potentially be detected by the UAE, which would get them into a diplomatic mess that SHIELD did not have the capacity to negotiate for. It was better for them to get in, get whomever had been left at the site out, and try to put the blame squarely on HYDRA.

The seconds in freefall ticked by, but Steve kept his breathing as even as possible. Not a sound was heard over the com, as the dark ground steadily became larger and larger in his vision. At the mental mark, just as a tiny thrill of fear began to creep up upon him, he glanced to his left and right – together the three of them unfurled themselves, to rapidly accelerate their descent. Steve felt as if he had been gut punched, but even more so when five seconds later, they all pulled their cords.

The chutes sprang out, but their descent was still quite fast. He hit the sandy ground running, snapping his chute and harness off with a quick application of his combat knife. He also stripped himself of the HALO gear and shredded it as best as he could – it was only added weight for the swiftness in which they had to move, and they did not need to give HYDRA any additional gear.

Sheathing the knife as he ran as fast as he could over the sand that dragged at his footsteps, he charged at the nearest HYDRA soldier that he saw about one hundred feet away. The soldier was alone, was facing away from him for the moment, but Steve knew that his uneven footsteps on the sand were giving his position away.

Snapping the HUD and night vision lenses over his helmet on, he swept up with his left open palm and smacked the soldier in the underside of his jaw, just as the soldier turned to see what was causing the noise. The soldier flew up and away, completely knocked out as his body landed in a heap on the sand about thirty feet away. Pausing as he scanned the horizon, he heard James and Johnson catch up, both of them huffing ever so slightly from their sprint.

“Perimeter clear,” he heard Johnson crisply state as he saw James strip the soldier of his weapons, handing the sidearm over to him, while keeping the rifle and hooking the earpiece and radio over his other ear. Since James was the only one with the best knowledge on HYDRA com check protocols, he would be listening in and alerting them to any movements of the HYDRA soldiers patrolling the perimeter of the crash site. Johnson was armed with her bracers and would be utilizing her abilities to the fullest.

“Go,” he heard James order. “Three hundred meters north-east, ridge line. Crash site is just beyond there.”

Johnson took point, and though Steve had initially argued the orders on the quinjet before they had dropped, James had pointed out that Johnson was the only one able to passively detect mines with her abilities. The frequency in which she attuned her powers using the bracers afforded her to 'listen' to the Earth, so to speak. Steve still did not like it, but by then, even Johnson looked as if she was about to jump down his throat for trying to sideline her.

Quickly and quietly, the three of them made their way across the dune's crest, approaching a larger dune that obscured their vision of what was on the other side. Because of the darkness and lack of night vision over his helmet's HUD, the crash site had blended in with the dark dunes. As they crested and paused at the apex, he could clearly see the wreckage strewn about. A large portion of it was intact, but it looked as if the Zephyr had crashed and rolled over and over before coming to rest in this area.

Johnson led the way up the dune that covered half of the wing that had remained attached to the Zephyr. As he and James swept the sides of their approach, there was nothing in Steve's HUD to suggest any ambush or patrol of sorts. However, Bucky's assessment of the crash site was still at the forefront of his thoughts, helping him focus and be more alert. As they crabbed across the wing and to where a hatch was located, nothing jumped out at them.

It would have been much faster to go in through one of the many open areas of wreckage, but those were the obvious points of entry and escape. He remembered that Bucky had stated that those areas would most likely be booby-trapped. Thus, with the quick application of a burner to open the keypad, James quickly typed in the override code and Steve heard a distinct _click_. He yanked open the hatch, as Johnson immediately posed both hands into the dark hole. The air vibrated ever so slowly as she felt for any unusual frequencies that would indicate mines, explosives, or otherwise.

“Clear,” she whispered over com before hauling herself in.

Steve was the next to descend as soon as Johnson cleared the area, landing lightly on his feet. He moved out of the way and a few moments later, James landed as well. Even with his pistol out and pointed in front of him, Steve could not see anything through the HUD except for the husk of an aircraft and a lot of sand that had blown in and covered over half of the area they were stepping in. He slowly walked around the area, as James brushed past him, headed aft. If there were any bodies of the crew, his HUD was not picking them up, and he could only assume that they were buried under sand.

“Shit,” Johnson swore over the com, causing Steve to look over from where he was. Johnson was further forward than he was, and was standing next to what looked like wiring, broken table and-- there was a body. It was half-buried under sand, but it was a body nonetheless, as he saw a torso and arm sticking out. As he made his way over, he heard Johnson say, “I found Director Coulson.”

“Is he intact, Quake?” James asked over the com.

“No.”

Steve stopped a few feet from where half of Coulson's body, still dressed in a suit, was lying out of the sand, as it became clearer to him that the body was missing a head. Said head was where Johnson was standing, next to a sand drift that almost piled up to the ceiling of the aircraft. He couldn't see any wires coming out of the head or the body, and it looked so real that he grimaced when Johnson knelt down and picked up Coulson's head.

“I secured his head,” Johnson stated, wrapping a cord around the head and binding the cord around her waist.

“Cap, going to need your help here,” he heard James say a moment later. “I hear someone, but I can't move the slab.”

“On my way,” he answered, turning away from the macabre sight and headed over to where James was.

Nothing jumped out or attacked him or the others on his way towards the rear of the aircraft, even when he gingerly walked across the open sand that separated the middle part of the fuselage with the tail end. He saw James crouched next to what looked like a collapsed wall that was folded and partially crushed against the hull of the aircraft. James looked up as he approached and moved over to the other side as Steve crouched where he had been crouching before. He could clearly hear the muffled noise of someone weakly calling for help. He quickly assessed how to go about lifting and making sure the rest of the structure didn't collapse on the survivor.

Handing the safed gun over to James who holstered it into a pocket, while pushing his rifle towards his back, Steve braced and took the collapsed wall into his hands. Heaving towards his left and slightly up, the motion was enough to dislodge the hull from the wall. However, if he tossed it to the side, it would cause the rest of the structure to collapse, and thus he held onto it, as James quickly reached into the hole created and dragged out the survivor by whatever purchase he could find.

“Clint!” he said at the same time James did, as he looked back to see Clint Barton, wearing mottled colored fatigues covered in sand that was soaked in blood from his wounds, groaning softly in pain.

Gently dropping the wall, as he did not want to cause any further instability in the structure, he hurried over as he saw James rip a couple of strips off of his own fatigues and quickly and tightly bind the areas where the archer was bleeding quite badly. “I can carry him,” he offered, as James nodded, and helped him heft the archer up so that he was now slung over his shoulders.

“Quake, find anyone else?” James said into the com as they slowly and cautiously made their way across the open sand area and back into the middle fuselage.

“Dried out dead bodies,” Johnson answered. “I have their tags, but--”

At once, a tremendous crash, followed by the buzzing of multiple machine gunfire filled the air as he and James immediately dropped to the sand-and-debris littered floor. He rolled Clint off of his back, hearing him groan and try to get up, a little more alert and awake now that he was freed, but held him close. Partially crawling over him to shield him from the unrelenting hail of bullets that whizzed over their heads and shredded the top half of the fuselage, he saw across the section and into where the cockpit and duty stations were, was Johnson, who was trying to crawl towards them.

“Hold position, Quake!” he heard James yell over the com, before saying, “Extract now, Trip!”

“Incoming!” came the crisp, but almost not heard answer from Triplett, due to the sheer noise of gunfire that surrounded them.

With the top half of the fuselage looking like Swiss cheese and ripping away, Steve heard Johnson shout over the com, saying, “I think I have a shot at the mines!”

“Take it!” James ordered.

The hollow ringing sound joined in with the gunfire, but three seconds later, the ground beneath all of them rumbled and violently shook. That was swiftly followed by several loud booms that had even him covering his ears so that his ear drums did not shatter. Silence eclipsed the area in ten seconds, but just as Steve removed his hands from his ears and looked up, the tell tale sounds of a quinjet descending, and a high-pitched buzzing sound from the rotary cannon filled that silence. Bursts of gunfire coming from those who survived the release of the mines answered the rotary cannon's spitfire.

Both he and James immediately scrambled up, with James shouting, “Move!” Steve hauled Clint up, slinging his arm around his shoulders and immediately headed towards the area where Johnson had disappeared out towards. Behind him, he could hear James firing his rifle every so often, providing retreating covering fire.

Emerging from the wrecked fuselage, he half dragged Clint towards the open ramp. The quinjet had not settled down on the ground, but was hovering as close to the ground as possible, with just enough clearance to give the rotary cannon room to swing back and forth and fire. Hauling Clint up and hopping up the few inches that separated the lip of the ramp to the ground, he deposited him in one of the jump seats.

Turning around and making his way back to the edge of the ramp, he reached it just in time to extend a hand out to help James up, as Johnson appeared at his side and fired off a few blasts of her powers. Standing this close and feeling the full force of her abilities through the bracers, he could definitely feel his bones vibrate, even as he saw what was left of the Zephyr crumple into the dark dunes. The dark specks of those HYDRA soldiers who had survived the mines, the rotary cannons, and everything else were also blown back by Johnson's powers.

“All in!” he heard James say. Steve backed away, and hit the button to close the ramp.

Their escape was not done, yet as he immediately reached up and grabbed a railing, as the quinjet VTOLed out of the hot zone fast. That turned into several banks and rolls, as Steve stumbled slightly, grabbing hand-over-hand onto the railing, making his way further into the cargo bay. He finally took a seat closer to the cockpit. Securing the crash webbing over himself, he could hear and feel the rumble of the rotary cannon trying to drive off their pursuers.

A snap-roll followed by the leveling out of quinjet finally signaled that they had escaped the zone and were now hopefully flying free and clear. Steve waited a few more seconds of level flying before breathing out a sigh of relief. He looked over to see that Johnson and James were already getting to work, with Johnson at her laptop, and James carefully examining the LMD head of Coulson.

That moment of relief, however, was broken not a second later. The raw scream that suddenly erupted from Clint startled Steve as he immediately turned in his seat and saw him clutching his head. James and Johnson were already reacting, dropping both the LMD head and laptop, respectively.

“In my head!” he barely heard Clint scream the words. “They—put—something--”

“Daisy!” James roared, just as Steve reached them and looked to James for direction while reaching out to try to steady Clint, who was clutching his head with his hands.

As both he and James tried to prevent Clint from aggravating his other injuries any further, Steve saw Johnson scramble up and reach up for a crate, dragging it down from the netting. She broke it open, revealing a screen of sorts that was some kind of scanner, judging by the way she activated it and panned it over Clint's head. “Oh shit,” he heard Johnson state, turning the screen of the scanner back towards them. “What the hell is that?!”

The hand-held scanner showed an x-ray-like scan of Clint's head, but there was also an small oblong object no bigger than a toddler's thumb, wedged beyond the upper part of his nose. It was Bucky's, “The Pillbox, an explosive with a fifty meter radius,” heard in between the screams still coming from Clint that caused all of them to pause for a moment.

“Shit, they've gotta have a wireless transmitter or something,” he heard James say, just as he saw Bucky reach up to pull the defibrillator from its housing. “What's the transmitter range?”

“Unknown,” Bucky stated.

“Jeez no, that's going to kill him!” Johnson said at the same time, as Steve saw Bucky set the charge to maximum and press the appropriate button to begin to power up the device.

“Do it!” Clint managed to say, as Steve saw through that his pain hazed eyes was focused on the defibrillator.

“I'll do it,” James stated, taking the defibrillator and setting it to the ground before yanking the paddles off of their housing, and waited for the beep from the device to let him know that it was ready. “Cap, start CPR as soon as the charge clears. Daisy, scan him for any other devices, and scan Coulson as well. Sergeant, tell Trip that we need to turn back for the moment. Get on that cannon and hold them off.”

Steve immediately grabbed a thick roll of gauze from within the defibrillator case's additional first-aid pack and stuffed it into Clint's mouth, hoping that it was enough to prevent him from biting his own tongue. He also unbuckled him and laid him down across the jump seats. With James' help, they both strapped the webbings across him. It was just a few seconds after Bucky returned to the cockpit and the quinjet briefly banked to turn and head back into the firefight that they had just escaped from, that the defibrillator finally beeped. The noise and rumble of the rotary cannon started up again. He looked up and caught James' eyes, as he saw him place the paddles on Clint's chest.

“Clear!”

Steve immediately yanked his stabilizing hands off of Clint, just as he saw James press the button to release the charge. Clint arched up and went silent as the volts of electricity surged through him, flopping back down onto the jump seats. James removed the paddles, and Steve immediately got to work, yanking the gauze out of Clint's mouth, and began pressing his hands up and down in a rhythmic manner on his chest. Daisy had returned with the scanner and panned it back over Clint's head. He caught a glimpse of the image – the oblong object was darkened considerably.

“It looks inactive, sir,” Johnson stated, moving the scanner slowly down across the rest of Clint's body.

“Come on, Clint, don't do this to me,” he heard James say, just as Johnson stepped away to go scan the LMD head. Steve paused for a moment, as he saw James give Clint mouth-to-mouth, before tilting his head slightly to see if he could hear or feel Clint breathing again. With a quick shake of his head, Steve resumed the compression, barely paying attention to the fact that Johnson had finished her scanning and was making her way to the cockpit to tell Triplett to get them out of the firefight again.

It was only after three mouth-to-mouth, along with the chest compression that Clint finally heaved and coughed. Steve immediately removed his hands, seeing that James had barely ducked away from Clint's sudden attempt to sit up, nearly smashing their heads together. As Clint gasped and started to even out his breaths, Steve could feel the rumble of the rotary cannon die. The quinjet also began to take on a smoother, more even flight.

“Augh,” he heard Clint groan, as he glanced over to see the faintest of a relieved smile on James' expression, as he sat back on the floor of the quinjet. “Who the hell took a hammer to my chest? And did someone kiss me?!”

He saw James gesture to him, saying, “You can thank Steve for the application of percussive healing, but this is the last time you'll get a kiss from me, Clint.”

“Famous last words,” he heard Clint grumble, eyes focusing on James before a crooked grin worked its way up his lips. “Didn't you say that oh...three years ago?”

How Steve managed to keep his surprise from showing at the banter being exchanged was something that mystified him, as he saw James shake his head ever so slightly in amusement. If he had to guess, whatever had happened between James and Clint in this reality was mission-related, but it didn't seem that way, based on the short exchange, James' actions, and words. However, he knew that he shouldn't read too much into his own theories and assumptions, and neither should he pry into whatever had been exchanged. Whatever the relationship had been, whatever mission it had been deployed on – if it had been deployed for a mission – was over.

“Budapest was an awesome mission,” Johnson quipped, stepping over and back to where her laptop had been dropped.

“You and I are definitely remembering Budapest differently, Quake,” Clint stated, tilting his head slightly back to look at Johnson. “But... thank you, Steve,” Clint continued eyes focusing on him, but then fell silent as Steve saw him blink and stare up and beyond him. “Okay... um, why is there another one of you, Bucky?”

“0-8-4,” James answered. “Both of them. Stevie didn't brief you and the team, or Coulson when she got out of the Framework?”

“No,” Clint answered, frowning. “We got our asses handed to us the minute she woke up. Just like Budapest. Except that they shot us down. Don't know how they managed to pinpoint us through the cloak and stealth engines.”

“They shot the Zephyr right after Cap woke up?” Johnson questioned, as Steve frowned slightly. “We got the SOS across all frequencies about six hours after we got out of the Framework.”

“Signal intercept and delay?” James suggested, shaking his head slightly. “But even if it wasn't, the more concerning thing is that the Zephyr was detected. That's the same tech that cloaks Intel Base.”

“Yeah,” Clint began, rubbing his chin before pausing and then raising his hand to tap his forehead. Steve saw him squint ever so briefly before asking, “So what the hell was in my head, and is it still there?”

“Still there, but it looks like it can't be reactivated, Clint,” Johnson stated from where she was sitting. “Defib fried it.”

“Great,” Clint sarcastically said. “Now I have what was it... a pillbox, in my head? TSA's going to love me going through the x-rays.”

“Pillbox,” Steve heard Bucky quietly speak up, having emerged from the cockpit somewhere after they had returned to their original flight heading. “An explosive developed by West Germany in an attempt to prevent their own scientists from defecting or being abducted by East Germany. Incidentally it was also used to kill enemy agents in populous places and place the blame on the Soviet-backed groups. Electrocution was the only way to stop the agents from carrying out their mission.”

“Shooting your target caused an explosion a hundred meters wide, didn't it, Sergeant?” James pointedly asked. Steve glanced over to see Bucky silently nod in assent.

“Another tech stolen,” he heard James mutter before getting up and returning to where Coulson's head had been dropped, and picked it up.

“Is that...” he heard Clint begin as he saw him shift ever so slightly to look back, still securely strapped down to the multiple jump seats. Steve got up from where he had been sitting on the floor of the quinjet and unbuckled the webbings to free Clint. Helping him up to a sitting position, he noticed that Clint's eyes did not stray once from staring at the LMD head of Coulson. “Goddammit,” he heard him mutter, curling his head into his hands.

“I'm sorry, Clint,” James said, just as Steve sat down in a jump seat, and saw him reach up into the neck and into the head, drawing out several wires. As realistic as the LMD head looked, even in the rictus of death, it was still unsettling enough to Steve that he had to look away. He noticed that Bucky had not moved from where he was standing, and was watching with a keen look at whatever James and Johnson were doing with the LMD head.

“Hopefully, the blackbox hasn't been damaged too badly,” he heard Johnson say as the sounds of her rapid typing started up again before stopping. Steve looked up, trying to not stare at the LMD head, to see that she had paused in her typing and was merely looking at her screen, eyes moving back and forth. He had to assume that an algorithm of sorts was trying to break into or decode the blackbox within Coulson's head.

They only had to wait a few minutes before Coulson's eyes lit up, as if it were a projector, and a fuzzy, holographic-like 3D image about a quarter in actual size appeared on the floor. All of it was from Coulson's perspective as Steve heard the background murmurs of people talking and Coulson reaching out to tap the IV line that was hanging beside the bed that Stevie was lying on. He saw him glance over to Stevie, who was wearing a plain SHIELD uniform, before hearing him mutter, “Come on, Rogers... get them out...”

“Sir,” the familiar voice of Maria Hill entered the recording as Coulson glanced over to see her approach and stop before him. “We're--”

At once a sudden cough coming from the bed had Coulson's attention diverted as his vision swung back to focus on Stevie. She was blinking and rapidly waking up, trying to clear the cobwebs in her head. Steve saw her glance to either side of her, and frown, as Coulson reached forward and helped her sit up. “What... where are they?” he heard her ask.

“Who?” Coulson questioned. “Where's who?”

“Steve and Bucky... the 0-8-4s you...” she began but fell silent as confusion, followed by realization crept over her expression. “No--” she said, scrambling up while yanking the IV line out.

Coulson followed her to the com station, where she was looking over the map, pinpointing where the Zephyr current was – flying over the Indian Ocean. “Get me a secured line to Carter,” she said to the com officer.

“Yes, ma'am,” the officer said.

“Got the location of Bravo, Phil,” she said, turning slightly to address Coulson. “Carter can deploy Charlie to rescue them, since they're closer. Monty and Bobbi didn't make it out, but the rest did.”

“So what's this about a 0-8-4, Rogers?” Coulson asked with Maria standing at his side, looking a little concerned.

“Ma'am,” the com officer interrupted before Stevie could say anything else.

“Tell you in a sec,” she said, taking the headset and putting it on. “Peggy, Bravo is located at Camp Lehigh, and they need an extract ASAP. We're in the middle of the Indian Ocean.”

There was a moment pause before she removed the headset and handed it back to the com officer. Turning back around, she shook her head slightly, saying, “Two people--” but whatever else she was going to say was swiftly cut off as the aircraft suddenly rocked.

Coulson was thrown to the ground, as alarms started to blare, and things were being tossed everywhere. It looked as if the aircraft was engaged in a steep dive, while rolling, as Coulson's vision show him attempting to grab onto something to keep himself from being flung everywhere. Stevie, Maria, and others occasionally flitted or flew by his vision, as he attempted to reach out and grab a free-falling crew member.

Securing the crew member to somewhere beside him, he then reached out to the communications console and punched a button, saying, “Com override six-dash-zero-six-one-six, Philip J. Coulson, Director. This is the Zephyr, calling any person that can hear us! We have been hit--” The crash onto the ground was even more jarring, as Coulson was violently flung forward from where he was and slammed head on into the wall. The feed blacked out.

There was some typing noise from Johnson and Steve could only surmise that she had found a way to speed up, as the footage cleared up again, showing Coulson blinking awake. “He was out for a little over thirty minutes,” Johnson stated.

Rather than see the wall that Coulson had slammed into, his vision projected him lying on his side, staring up into the exposed and torn cargo area. Sand was already blowing in, covering a few things in a thin layer. Boots belonging to others stepped in and out of Coulson's vision, but beyond that, was something that completely horrified and sickened Steve. Pinned to the torn wall off of the fuselage like a bug collection were several agents, all of them female – including Maria and Stevie.

Swords, ranging from thin rapiers to curved blades, and everything in between were stabbed into the arms, bodies, and legs of the survivors. Even worse was that they were all awake and gagged, with small puddles of blood already forming below where they were pinned. Steve forced himself to continue to stare at the projection, even as he saw Coulson try to get up, only for the LMD to be forcibly picked up by his neck. The projection showed a man's face, darkly bearded and cropped hair cut in a military style, with mixed features that Steve couldn't quite point to the ethnicity of the man.

“Looks like you're awake, Director Coulson,” the man stated before dragging him closer to the wall where the agents were pinned. “Which one of these agents is the super-soldier Stephanie Rogers?”

“...grhg...hnnrn,” was all that came out of Coulson, as the choke hold that the man had on him was most likely enough to partially crush his windpipe.

“Come now, Director,” the man said. “When I was hired for this job, Madam Hydra informed me that you are a LMD. You don't have a windpipe, so you can say things with perfect clarity, even if I'm squeezing your neck beyond what I normally do humans.”

“...and she didn't see fit to inform you as to what your target looked like?” Coulson scoffed after a moment.

“Well, the target was you, Director,” the man stated. “Then I got a sat phone call fifteen minutes ago, about acquiring an even larger bounty – the super-soldier named Stephanie Rogers. You're not worth bringing in alive anymore, Director. The best you can do in the last few minutes of your life is to tell me which one of these agents is the super-soldier.”

“Go. To. Hell,” Coulson spat out.

The man merely blinked before looking over to someone slightly in the corner within Coulson's vision. Not a second later, Steve saw an arrow fly by and strike directly into Maria's heart. Coulson's denial echoed with muffled sounds from the others still pinned to the wall, as Steve saw his counterpart struggle quite mightily against the swords that pinned her down. Blood was already dripping down the wall where she was pinned, and even more was soaking into her clothes with her struggling.

Somewhere beyond the LMD's vision, a female voice was heard, saying, “Wow, this composite bow actually has some kick. Still not as useful as a rifle though.”

“Look, Director,” the man said returning his attention to Coulson, “I would like the bigger paycheque, but honestly, I'd settle for bringing you in. Either way, I'm getting paid. So either identify the super-soldier, or watch your crew die.”

The LMD was silent for a few minutes, and just as the man turned around to signal to whomever had taken Clint's preferred weapon to shoot again, Coulson spoke up, saying, “Let them go. I'll identify her, but let the rest go.”

“Sacrifice one for the many,” the man said, giving him an unkind smile. “You military types...”

Coulson was silent for a moment before his vision jerked up slightly as he pointed with his chin towards Stevie. “Her, the blonde with the buzz cut.”

“Her?” the man said, letting Coulson go for a moment, though it seemed that other mercenaries had stepped in and held the LMD up, and walked over to Stevie. The man pulled out the sword that had been stabbed through Stevie's stomach and reinserted it just as fast, but not fast enough to prevent a short gush of blood to flow out of the wound. “She doesn't cry,” the man said, as Steve saw Stevie nearly pass out from the sheer amount of pain of being stabbed twice through in the gut. “Shoot another.”

“What the hell?!” Coulson shouted, just as another arrow lanced into the heart of another member of the crew. “I told you! Let them go!”

“So you have, Director,” the man stated, before gesturing to the others, saying, “Bring her. Kill the rest. Contact Madam Hydra and tell her we'll be waiting in Macau--”

The transmission ended abruptly, but even in the silence that enveloped the quinjet's cargo area, Steve continued to stare at the floor where the projection had been. He felt extremely ill to the point where he wanted to vomit, but held himself back from dry heaving. In all of his years serving SHIELD, he had never seen this level of violence and torture rendered upon people. Since being brought to this reality, all he had been reminded of was the sheer horrific violence that had been inflicted upon civilians and soldiers during the war in his reality. This world, this reality, was sick, and the cancer that was HYDRA had already killed too many.

“Facial and voice recognition points to a man named Sergei Tseng Callahan,” Johnson's slightly quavering voice broke the silence. Remarkably, she kept her tone as even as possible though there was a clear underlying disgust and anger that seeped out, as she continued to say, “He's a security consultant working out of Macau, with an affiliation to a security group named Section Three.”

“Probably the fucking mercs with him in that blackbox,” Clint angrily muttered. “Fuckers shouldn't have left me alive--”

“Run the facial and voice again, Quake,” James interrupted whatever else Clint was about to say. “Run every single one of those faces and voices we saw and heard from Coulson's blackbox.”

“Sir--” Johnson began.

“Just do it!”

Johnson was not the only one to jump slightly out of her seat, as Steve flinched at just how harsh and furious James had spat those three words out. Anguish and anger were lying plain as day within James' eyes and facial expression, but there was something in those eyes as well, that caused Steve to worry. It was the same blankness, the same look that he had seen in Bucky's eyes when he had been the Winter Soldier. While it was not at the forefront, Steve could swear he could see that blankness growing by the second.

“Rationale, Captain?”

Steve snapped his gaze from James to Bucky, surprised that it was he who had stated that question. Though the question had been stated in a calm tone, what surprised him even more was that he could see a glimmer of anger and anguish in Bucky's eyes – the same that he had seen reflected in James' eyes. But there was no blankness in his best friend's eyes, just a wall that closed off enough of what Bucky was feeling to only let him read enough; to let him know that the transmission did affect him as well.

It was, however, enough to snap James from the fugue he had fallen into as he blinked and said in a more composed, calm but still angry tone, “Macau is Jiaying's territory. She's the Inhuman leader, and SHIELD... SHIELD doesn't want anything to do with her and her people. We've only kept their location secret because of what Director Carter had negotiated. They leave us alone, we leave them alone and fight HYDRA without their help. Daisy, Lincoln, Robin, and the other Inhumans help us because they were cast out by Jiaying.”

“She's also my mother,” Johnson stated in a sullen tone. “but hey, that's family for you.”

He saw him glance back over to Johnson, saying, “Run those again, Daisy. We need to be absolutely sure that that man is Callahan, and that he and his people are in Macau. Section Three is not a group that I want to tangle with, again.”

“Why?” Steve asked before Bucky could beat him to the punch.

“Because,” James began, as Steve saw him fold his hands together while resting his elbows on his knees, “They're Jiaying's bodyguards. They're Inhumans. The first and last time SHIELD negotiated with them, they killed one of the two delegates, and four of the five bodyguards that we sent. Director Carter and I were not killed only because of Robin. In exchange for letting us live, leave, and take Robin with us, we promised not to disclose the location of their enclave to HYDRA.”

“Fucking hell, Carter herself said that her husband, Peters, Chau, Gonzales, and Johanssen were on exchange there! We even had fucking emailed updates from them! You're telling me that they were all killed a year ago?! That you and Carter _doctored_ those emails?! The hell were they thinking?! _We're_ not trying to kill them! HYDRA is!” Clint shouted.

“But... my mother...” Johnson began at nearly the same time, shock and horror playing across her expression. “Why would she... why?”

“I don't know,” James answered to both of the questions, setting the LMD head aside and getting up. “Run it, Daisy. Check to see if they're using photo-static veils as well. I'll brief Director Carter on the situation.”

Steve could only sit in stunned silence as his eyes silently tracked James' movements from where he had been sitting and to well beyond when the door between the cockpit and cargo hold swished closed. It was only when Bucky moved to sit on the jump seat opposite of him that drew his attention away from the cockpit door. Even as he caught and locked eyes with Bucky, there was nothing in his expression or eyes that gave away what he thought about the situation.

Anger, horror, and a general sickness for what he had seen through the LMD blackbox transmission still swirled around him, but this was the first time that Steve had ever felt dread creep up into him. HYDRA had been and still were eradicating Inhumans. SHIELD had been and still were trying to save and protect them. What had happened?

* * *

The mission was simple, or as simple enough that even with his fragmented memories and occasional relapse, Bucky thought he could carry out the mission. That was not to be, though, as the situation behind the mission was complicated. His counterpart was persona non grata in Macau, and without photo-static veils, neither he nor his counterpart could carry out the mission. Clint Barton couldn't either, due to his injuries, and thus it was up to Rogers and Johnson to take lead on the mission.

Even without his memories, Bucky was fairly confident in Rogers' abilities to do whatever necessary for a mission... except when it involved the particulars and parameters of this mission. It was only because of his memories and the fragments, some from their childhood and growing up, others from the war, that his confidence in Rogers successfully carrying out the mission plummeted. The fact that Rogers looked unsure himself, handsomely dressed in a white formal tuxedo, was contributing to the lack of confidence he had in Rogers.

Johnson was dressed to kill by looks and more realistically, with the tiny gun wrapped and hidden around one of her legs. She was wearing a red evening strapless gown that had thigh-high slits going up on either side, and heels that could qualify as sharp weapons. Though she was accompanying Rogers, Bucky still felt that neither could pull off the mission. Or rather, Johnson would be the one who would have to get Rogers out of a blundering social scrape of his own doing. All of his memories pointed to the fact that Rogers was terrible at interacting with women, and even more awkward in social situations involving women. This gala that the mission was pointing to, was the worst thing that Rogers could be sent into.

“Come on, Bucky, stop looking at me like that,” Rogers' plaintive complaint to him didn't help either.

“He can't help it, Steve,” he heard his counterpart say as he glanced over to see him step back from his final walk around Rogers and Johnson, making sure that the weapons hidden upon them were not detectable. “It's the same exact look I had when Director Carter forced Stevie to get into a dress for a similar function.”

“Kicking and screaming no less,” he heard Barton mutter from where he was typing a few things on Johnson's laptop.

“I thought the service academies had annual galas?” Triplett said, emerging from the cockpit, dressed appropriately for his role in the mission. “Thought it was required attendance. You and Cap didn't go to them, sir?”

“Nope,” he heard his counterpart say. “We skipped each year to go get drunk at the local watering hole. It was always worth the month of latrine duty each year. Plus the incriminating pictures we took of our fellow cadets doing drugs at the gala helped alleviate the more severe punishments.”

While on the surface, the banter was light and seemingly in good humor, Bucky could read the tension, anger, and worry that still lingered on all of them. They were all restraining themselves as much as possible to not jump straight into gala and demand retribution and answers from the leader of the Inhumans. Rather, their target was the man initially identified through the recognition algorithm, who had accepted the bounty placed on Rogers' counterpart's head: Sergei Tseng Callahan. Though Callahan was associated with Jiaying's group of bodyguards, the recognition algorithm had given them inconclusive results about the rest of those seen and heard over the blackbox.

They did, however, know that Callahan was in Macau and habitually attended the week-long gala that Jiaying threw on an semi-annual basis. It also became clear to him that the leader of the Inhumans made sure that no one outside of her hidden enclave did not know that she was Inhuman, and that she had a lot of political clout within the Asian governments. She would have been a perfect target for the Winter Soldier in his reality – to either kill, abduct, or coerce.

But the mission was simple enough: infiltrate the gala, find Callahan and wring information about the whereabouts of Rogers' counterpart from him, and leave without causing an international or Inhuman incident with Jiaying or her Section Three bodyguards.

It was an easy mission by the standards to which Bucky compared the parameters to his memories of other missions. Johnson was to be the distraction, since there was a good chance that Jiaying would definitely notice that her daughter was present. Rogers was to be the one to find Callahan and point him out to Triplett, who was the only one of out of all of them the most level-headed at the moment. Bucky could see the various levels of fury – cold and hot – on all of them. Even he was not immune to the cold anger that he still felt after watching what had happened through the blackbox recording. Triplett was the only one who had not seen it and had only been verbally briefed on it, and thus was the best person to objectively get the information they needed out of Callahan.

“So,” Johnson said, “We ready, sir?”

“Your mission, Johnson. You call the shots,” he heard his counterpart state.

“All right, let's go,” she confidently stated, nodding.

“Triplett,” his counterpart began as Rogers, Johnson, and the pilot began to descend down the ramp of the quinjet.

“I'll make sure the kids come back before ten, chief,” Triplett answered, giving them a casual wave of his hand. “And make sure they're well chaperoned--”

“Hey!” Johnson protested. “We're both older than you are, Trip. Steve's at least--”

“Ninety-seven, thank you very much--” Rogers supplemented.

“--if anyone needs chaperoning, that'd be you,” Johnson continued.

“Just kidding, Daisy,” Triplett answered. “And Cap, you're old, gramps.”

“You gotta do better than that, Triplett,” was Rogers' retort.

Their voices faded from the interior of the quinjet and a few moments later, it was Barton who said, “They're a little less nervous, but it was a good attempt, Bucky.” Barton then paused and looked back and forth between him and his counterpart, asking, “Erm...you're both Bucky... so...”

“Nomad,” Bucky stated, pointing to himself.

“Yeah, but that's more of a call sign than name,” Barton said, frowning slightly.

“Daisy uses Sarge,” his counterpart said, turning from watching the three of Strike Bravo leave, before pulling down a crate from above the jump seats. “But it's kind of irrelevant at the moment. We'll be going in with call signs.”

“I knew it!” Barton said, crouching, just as his counterpart cracked open the casing. Bucky knelt down as well, as the archer continued to say, “Didn't seem like you to just sit around waiting for shit to happen.”

The look of skepticism that his counterpart gave Barton was a familiar one that he remembered giving Rogers when they had been younger and just as stubborn in their own opinions. He saw his counterpart pull out three sets of clothing, two of them black tuxedos. The all-black set of clothing that looked reinforced with armor and padding was handed to him. One of the tuxedos was handed to Barton. The other was kept to the side as Bucky saw him pull out a small device, saying, “Recognition might have been inconclusive for all of the other faces and voices we heard, but I had R&D go over one voice in particular. They scrubbed it six way to sundown and this is what came back.”

The tiny button on the device was pressed and a husky feminine voice issued over the device, saying, “Wow, this composite bow actually has some kick. Still not as useful as a rifle though.”

“I... sort of recognize that voice?” Barton said, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

“Romanov,” Bucky said, catching his counterpart's eyes. He'd recognize that distinct of a voice anywhere, especially now that it was becoming clearer in his memories that he had trained her well before her public profiled birth date. She still was the last of the Widows that the Soviets produced, but she was certainly older than her purported age.

“What the hell was she doing there?!” Barton exclaimed. “What the hell is she doing with Section Three and Callahan?”

“That's what we need to find out,” he heard his counterpart state. “If she's within Section Three, she's most likely attending the gala. Jiaying will definitely have her bodyguards scattered about. Carter's given a go for the mission. We wait to strike only until Johnson, Rogers, and Triplett have Callahan. Not before.”

“Steve and the others don't know about this, do they?” he asked.

“No,” his counterpart answered. “We don't know enough of the situation as to why she was there. Best case scenario, she's not at the gala and is elsewhere and holding other Inhumans hostage. Worst case is that the Inhumans' enclave has been discovered and she's holding Jiaying and her people hostage at the gala.”

“That's a rather generous assessment, Bucky,” Barton stated. “Considering what they did to Carter's husband and four of our own—”

“I hated it as much as you do now, Clint, but it was necessary.” Barton looked as if he were about to vehemently argue the necessity of what Director Carter and his counterpart had done, but Bucky saw him clench his jaw for a moment before looking away.

He caught his counterpart's eyes on him, as he heard him say, “Barton and I will infiltrate the gala, spook her if she's there, and try to drive her towards you. You're position will be in the gardens. It's open, but it's a natural place for any person looking to escape to go. You think you're healed enough to go a second round against her?”

Bucky silently nodded. There were still some of his wounds that had not fully sealed yet, but most of them had at least a few layers of healed skin that would hopefully be enough to prevent the wounds from reopening. The stitches would still come loose and rip, but that was the nature of the beast. While it was generous for his counterpart to offer him a way out of the mission, he considered it unnecessary. They both knew how each other thought, acted, and reacted – it was only a hollow formality.

“Good,” his counterpart said.

“Bucky... you said you're persona non grata in Macau,” Barton spoke up, looking a little concerned. “How are you going to enter the gala?”

“We do it like Budapest,” he heard his counterpart say as he saw him reach into the crate and pull out a small box labeled 'photo-static veil'. “Except that I'm wearing Coulson's face.”

In response to the answer, all Barton did was loudly sigh, looking somewhat distraught, but managing to hide most it from even showing in his expression. “Great,” Bucky heard the archer sarcastically state, “just like Budapest except that my ex is wearing the face of my dead fiance.”

“I'm sorry, Clint, but there's no other way we'll be able to spook her,” his counterpart said.

The archer sighed and nodded, “I know.”

“Could be worse,” Bucky spoke up, half-wondering why he was even contributing to the somewhat personal conversation between the two. “You could be replacing Johnson on the other mission.”

Silence answered his words, but it was quickly broken with Barton's defeated acceptance as he said, “Yeah... you're right. Kuala Lumpur was a terrible mission.”

* * *

“Well, from where I'm sitting, you guys are definitely turning heads. I got at least five chauffeurs and three waitstaff looking at you guys and they're not being discreet about it.”

“And we're not even through the door yet,” Steve heard Johnson mutter both into the com and to him.

As embarrassed and nervous as he felt, it was the fact that he was actively looking for their target that helped him focus. Still, that couldn't stop the blush he felt rising his cheeks as he felt Johnson readjust her light touch on the crook of his arm. It was similar to the stares he remembered garnering at the SSR Headquarters, but worse, as he did not have a mission to go on to escape the hungry, lustful looks thrown his way. _This_ was the mission.

He had never been to this formal of an event, as all of his formal experiences had been either award ceremonies he had been ordered to participate in by Fury, or in the casual dance halls of 1940's Brooklyn. In the award ceremonies, he had been in his military uniform, and had made the necessary polite small talk with politicians. He did, however, enjoy conversing with veterans who were also present. Whereas in the dance halls, he had sat in the corner, watching others have fun. Every 'date' he had gone on with the girls who had agreed to double-date Bucky and him, all ended up with him going home early anyways, as he found it frustratingly boring to just watch everyone else dance the night away.

“I want to apologize in advance if I step on your toes, Quake,” he said as he and Johnson ascended the marble stairs that would carry them to the entrance to the grand building.

“Oh, we're not dancing, Cap,” Johnson said, as he caught her slightly incredulous look over at him before smoothing it out to a more pleasant expression. “Hell no. I can't dance. We're socializing, after I knock back one or two. Hope you have good social skills.”

“I think I can manage,” he said, grinning as a small amount of relief settled within him, even though he felt a little more apprehensive. “I did the USO tour, pressed hands with politicians, and the like before,” he said, trying to force a little confidence into himself. “Punched Hitler over two hundred times, so a little socializing shouldn't be too bad.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Triplett broke into the com, almost chuckling his words. “You were a USO show girl? My old man said that their tours usually involved Hitler punching to help raise war bonds. I think they called the tour 'Star Spangled Plan'”

“Yeah,” he said, as he couldn't help but smile at the memory of Peggy telling him that being a USO dancing monkey was not his only choice in life. “Did that for few months in the States, but it got better once I crossed the Atlantic.”

“Wow,” was all that came back from Triplett.

“Head's up, we're entering,” Johnson said, though he could see the faintest of an amused look on her face as he focused back on the mission.

He knew that he could not be picky, could not wish that someone else had been chosen for the mission. Though Triplett would have been a more natural choice to accompany Johnson, it was the fact that there were Inhumans among those at the gala that both he and Johnson had a better chance of surviving any traps that would be sprung if they couldn't get to their target. Triplett's apprehending of Callahan would only be undertaken once they could isolate the man away from whatever security force Jiaying had at the gala.

Squaring his shoulders, he schooled his expression to a neutral but pleasant one as he shoved as much of his nervousness as possible aside and entered with Johnson. The hall was palatial in size and beauty. Grand and wide crystal chandeliers hung from ceiling. White marble stairs inlaid with gold filigree led the way down to the main floor. Situated in the middle of the hall was the orchestra, surrounded by an ornate fountain of fishes. Two staircases on either side swept up to the second floor balconies, where there were small groups of people gathered, conversing or watching those below. On the floor itself were a few couples swirling around, but most of those at the gala were socializing in small groups.

“Bar first,” Johnson murmured from beside him, as he felt her ever so gently tug at his arm as they descended to the floor.

He obliged, and even though alcohol did nothing for him, perhaps the taste of some strong whisky would convince his brain to at least stop making himself so nervous. He looked around, trying not to show it on his face that he was actively searching out their target as they slowly made their way to the bar on the right side of the hall. However, they didn't even make it halfway there when a woman, as tall as he was, with strong Asiatic features that he considered quite striking, approached. The woman was flanked by two people, one who looked just as tall as the woman, but with a mousy build and looked to be blind; and another who looked quite diminutive, with vulnerable-looking wide eyes.

“Mother,” Johnson tightly stated, the pressure of her hand on his arm increasing for a moment. “Gordon,” she addressed the blind man who turned his attention briefly onto him before focusing back on Johnson. “Raina,” the other bodyguard was identified.

“Daisy,” Jiaying greeted, smiling quite pleasantly, but Steve did not see that smile reach her eyes. “How interesting and wonderful it is to see you here. I did not know that your employers gave you vacation.”

“I asked for a few days off,” she answered. “Work was... getting a little stressful.”

“And where is Lincoln?” Jiaying asked in a pleasant tone. “Surely you didn't--”

“We did, Mother,” Johnson nodding. “A few months ago, and I'm humble enough to admit that you were right, Mother. It was never going to work out. But, as you see, I've gotten over it. This is Steve. I met him outside of work. He works for the USO.”

“Ma'am,” he politely greeted as he felt Johnson lift her hand off of his arm, just as Jiaying extended her own. Gently taking it up, he bent slightly as he brought the back of her hand up and briefly pressed his lips against it. Letting go as he stood back up, he saw that there was a glimmer of something akin to surprise behind Jiaying's eyes.

“A true gentleman,” she said, gracefully nodding. “Daisy, I have some hope for your future.”

Johnson's laughter was a little nervous, a little forced, and definitely uncomfortable before she turned slightly towards him asking, “Would you please fetch me a drink, Steve?”

“Whisky?” he asked. In response to her nod, and ignoring her mother's rather surprised look at her drink of choice, he sketched a short bow towards the little group and left.

Keeping his pace as even as possible, he made his way to the bar, and signaled for the bartender. After ordering two whiskys, he glanced around, noticing that their target was no where near the vicinity of the area. “Two martinis, stirred, not shaken,” a woman spoke up beside him. Glancing over at her, he blinked and leaned slightly back as he realized that the woman was none other than the bodyguard introduced as Raina.

“Ma'am,” he politely greeted.

“Wow,” she answered, smiling at him, though that smile did not match the inquisitive, unsettling searching look in her eyes. “First time I've ever gotten a ma'am from a gentleman such as yourself. Mister...”

“Steve is just fine,” he answered. “Everyone calls me that, since they usually butcher my last name,” he said, hoping that his complete and utter lie was good enough to pass scrutiny. He had to thank Stevie and the interrogative interview that he had endured in HYDRA's hands while in the Framework, for allowing him to learn how to lie better. Still, telling lies did not sit well within his tongue.

“Mr. Steve, then,” Raina said, laughing lightly.

“Miss Raina?” he answered in kind, equally glad that his USO circuit days had taught him how to engage in the briefest of small talks. He still felt a little nervous though, and it was not because the petite woman was pretty, but the fact that despite the banter, those eyes of hers still held an unsettling look behind the pleasantry.

Steve gave a start as Raina clamped a hand down over his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong – stronger than he would have put for a woman of her short stature and size. “Jiaying knows who you're after, Agent,” she said in a low tone, low enough that he had to lean slightly in to hear her. “We'd consider it a favor fulfilled if you would take him far and away from here. He's currently near the orchestra, standing next to the replica of Venus.”

He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly but there was no ill intent that he could read from Raina's eyes. Slowly turning his gaze towards the direction of the orchestra, he saw a man standing next to the indicated miniature replica of the statue with his back towards the bar. Just as he was about to return his attention to Raina, he saw the man turn ever so slightly, showing his profile. It definitely was Callahan, as his face was quite distinctive, and burned into his memories, along with the atrocities he had inflicted upon those in the Zephyr.

“What are you playing at?” he demanded, snapping his gaze back to Raina.

“You should ask your superiors, as they have not properly briefed you before sending you in. Three favors were given that day,” Raina said, increasing her grip on his wrist until Steve could feel acute pain begin to lance up his arm. “One for Robin, one for not disclosing the location of our home. Two more for the lives of your two agents, which have not yet been fulfilled. We will consider one of them fulfilled if you rid us of that man.”

“Would you consider both fulfilled if we get rid of the other mole within your ranks as well?”

Steve blinked in utter surprise as he looked beyond Raina to see Coulson and Clint, arm-in-arm, approach and stop behind Raina. Both were dressed in black tuxedos, though there was some evidence on Clint's face that he had covered up the stitching near his forehead hairline with some concealing makeup. He had seen Coulson's dead body, had seen the blackbox footage from the LMD head, but here Coulson was—and then it hit him. James had lied about not having a photo-static veil available.

However, that was not his primary concern at the moment, as he heard Triplett ask over com, “Second mole? Wait, there's two people we need to catch?”

“Phil Coulson, Director of SHIELD,” he heard James say in the exact intonation and cadence of Coulson, as he saw him extend a hand out towards Raina. The woman did not take his hand and after a moment, he dropped it and continued to say, “I see you've plucked out one of my agents.” A light chuckle escaped his lips as he said, “You'll have to forgive us. We've just suffered some recent losses, and had to put more than a few green agents out in the field.”

“Understandable,” Raina stated, finally removing her iron grip on his wrist and turned back to reach for two drinks that the bartender had placed on the stand. “Come, allow me to introduce you to Jiaying. I'm quite sure she would be interested in hearing this... new development.”

“After you,” James said, extending an arm out for Raina to lead the way before murmuring to him, saying, “Pick up the drinks, Cap.”

Steve did as he was told, and even if James had not ordered it, he knew that he would have done so anyways. Whatever was happening with the mission, it was clear that there was or had been a second one being carried out, independent of the one that he, Johnson, and Triplett were assigned to. Why James had not felt the need to brief him and the others on it was both concerning and quite annoying – it felt exactly like the last time Fury had implanted Natasha into the team sent to rescue the crew of the Lemurian Star.

Following Raina back, he handed the glass of whisky to Johnson, who took it with only a glance over towards Coulson before knocking the entire glass back in two gulps. Steve could not keep the surprise from appearing on his face, as she then said, “Let's get down to business, shall we, Mother?”

“Phil Coulson, Director of SHIELD,” he heard James reintroduce himself, brisk and business-like, as Jiaying nodded, but did not extend her hand out. Neither did James, but he continued to say, “You're aware of who we're primarily after, but there's another person we're after. Let us remove these two people from your ranks and consider the favors that SHIELD owes you fulfilled.”

“Our ranks are closely monitored and guarded, Director Coulson,” Jiaying stated, looking at all of them shrewdly. “This man that you're after is an aberration who should have never contracted with us in the first place – had we known about his affiliations. There have been rumors that he killed you, Director, and yet you stand here--”

“It's a little irrelevant, don't you think, Jiaying?” James cut in. “As you can see, I'm still alive. Our second target is a HYDRA agent. Now, if you don't want to expose your people to her, show her your powers and thereby blowing your well fed and well kept cover here, take the deal.”

There was an extremely tight smile on Jiaying's lips, before she nodded once, saying, “I'll consider the favors fulfilled, Director, if you rid our ranks of the two moles. But, you will receive no help from us, after all, we must maintain some civility and decorum in this chaotic world.”

“I didn't expect any,” James answered, with a similar expression on his face. “Pleasure doing business with you, Jiaying.” This time, the leader of the Inhumans did extend her hand out, and James-as-Coulson returned the gesture, firmly shaking her hand.

Letting go, James then left, with Clint by his side. A few moments later, Steve heard him while still using Coulson's voice, say, “Quake, you have a go. Get Callahan and get clear. Leave the other target to us.”

He heard and saw Johnson make the motions for a polite excuse to leave Jiaying, and followed her lead. As soon as both he and Johnson stepped away, he heard her say, “Just like Budapest, sir?”

“Just like Budapest,” came the answer.

With Johnson's hand on his crooked arm again, he allowed her to take the lead and guide them through a throng of people – away from the orchestra, even though he knew that she had heard Callahan's current location over the com. “All right then,” Johnson said, as Steve saw her pluck up a champagne flute from a passing server with an air of casual ease, while depositing her empty glass of whisky on the server's tray.

The same confidence that she displayed was not within him, but he knew that he had to put aside his confusion, questions, and nervousness all together. Two targets were in the hall, and they already knew the location of one. “Doing some recon?” he asked, as he forced himself to take a sip of the whisky he had in his hand.

“Dossier on Callahan doesn't say much in terms of personality on how to approach and lure him to where Triplett is,” Johnson answered. “Gotta check on how I'm going to seduce him away from his fondling of Venus' breasts.”

“Uh...” he began, not entirely sure how to respond to the commentary.

Fortunately, he did not have to, as Johnson slowly looped the two of them around, finally passing near the orchestra and where their target was still standing, seemingly just enjoying watching those dancing swirl around. “Look at where I'm pointing and act as if you're interested in it, Cap,” he heard Johnson say.

He followed Johnson's outstretched arm with the champagne flute, gestured out towards and beyond where their target was. Schooling his expression to what he hoped was a mildly interesting look, he heard her laugh as if he had just said something nonsensical before she drew her arm back. He withdrew his gaze from the non-existent area and turned his head slightly towards her. Natasha would be proud of him, with that display he had just put on, as he saw Johnson nod slightly, whispering, “He's seen us now. We got his attention.”

“Phase two, then,” he answered, as Johnson pressed her fingers on his arm, indicating that they should stop a moment.

“I'm on my way to the rendezvous point,” Triplett answered.

“And I need to freshen up,” Johnson said, placing her once-sipped champagne flute on another tray as it passed by them. She then leaned in, and he did the same, hoping that it looked as if they were talking a little more intimately, as he heard her say, “Gotta look and feel my best if I'm going to be the seductress. Keep an eye on him, Cap, and let me know if he's moved elsewhere.”

Steve saw her step away, releasing the pressure of her hand on his arm, and make her way through the throngs of beautifully dressed people. Her red evening gown made it easier for him to keep track of where she was going, but as soon as he glanced back over to where their target was, he halted in his action of bringing his whisky glass up for another sip. Their target was no longer standing next to the Venus statue.

“Quake, target's not at the statue anymore,” he said, managing to complete his action and say his words into the glass.

“I know,” came the surprising answer, as he caught a glimpse of Johnson flitting in and among the crowds on the far side of the hall. There was no sign of the target anywhere near Johnson. “He's coming up from behind you. Don't turn around.”

“What?” he said, nearly choking on the sip he had taken of his drink.

“We caught his attention, but it looks like you're the white knight blazing in on a white horse that really got his attention,” Johnson answered. “Start walking – slowly – to where I'm going. You're bait. Play hard to get, Cap.”

“Uh,” he began, but as he lowered his glass, he caught a glimpse of the target reflected in the glass at just the right angle. He lowered his glass until it was resting comfortably against his chest, and started forward. Given the glass size, reflective angle, and the light that hit it, he had to estimate that the target was at least seven feet behind him with at least three people between him and the target. “This is Nat's forte... not mine,” he murmured, feeling quite uncomfortable. “Too busy to go on a date after waking up from ice and now this...?”

“You're doing fine, Cap,” Johnson's reassuring voice came through the com, as he tried his best to keep his expression pleasant and not let his panic and nervousness overwhelm him.

“Wait, you were too 'busy' to go on dates?” Clint's voice interrupted Johnson, as Steve tried to casually weave around the small knots of people, occasionally pausing for a second or so to just pretend to listen to the orchestra's music. “How could you be _that_ shy with that handsome of a mug, Cap?”

“Can the chatter, Hawkeye,” he heard James cut in, sounding annoyed through Coulson's voice, though there was something else in his tone that Steve could not identify. “More searching for our target, less ragging on Cap.”

“Make your way left,” Johnson resumed talking, as Steve felt a wash of gratefulness flood him for a moment, bolstering his confidence. He started to walk to his left, spying Johnson disappearing into a corridor. It was not quite something that he knew Bucky would say, but nonetheless, he was glad that James had intervened. He was still a little worried as to who exactly the other target was, considering that HYDRA had been explicitly name-dropped, but he didn't dare ask over the com. He, Triplett, and Johnson had their mission, the others had their own.

“Men's bathroom?” he questioned as he turned into the corridor, seeing the telltale corner of Johnson's evening gown disappear into what he could only presume was a bathroom.

“Got it in one,” she answered. “We're ready for him.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, just before he fully walked into the corridor, he could see the target approaching. He mentally took a deep breath and stilled his mind, purging every single thought of nervousness as best as he could. He had watched enough of what Sam had considered a good popcorn series of movies labeled 'James Bond' to think that what he was about to do would most likely work, even if he considered the movies mostly terrible in taste. In a move that was highly uncharacteristic of him, but that he knew that Natasha would be proud of him doing, he turned his head slightly, making sure he deliberately caught the target's eyes on him.

He winked.

He returned his attention to the forefront and made his way down the corridor, clutching the glass of whisky tighter as he heard the heavy tread of footsteps behind him. Pushing the door to the men's bathroom open, he stepped in, passing by both Triplett and Johnson who were waiting in the corners of the other side. Three steps into the empty washroom before the actual toilets, the target entered, and he turned.

Just as Johnson held the door close with one hand splayed and unleashing a low-level pulse of her powers, Steve threw the glass of whisky straight at the target. It shattered all over their target's tuxedo dressed front, but it was enough of a distraction to allow Triplett to get the jump on him and jab him with a tranquilizer. Callahan slumped onto the floor, dazed and a few moments later, his eyes fluttered closed, knocked completely out.

“Team One has target,” Johnson declared. “Good hunting, Team Two.”

“Copy. See you at the rendezvous,” he heard James state.

~~~

Bucky quietly let go of the breath that he didn't realize that he had been holding as he heard Johnson's confirmation that the first target had been successfully captured. A part of him had wanted to intervene, to reassure Rogers, to help him through the social near-blunders he was committing, but didn't. He had kept his silence, listened as others around Rogers alleviated his nervousness, guided him through what he needed to do. On some level, Bucky understood why it made him feel guilty that he couldn't be there to help, but the more rational part of him, the part in which the Winter Soldier memories sat at the forefront, had quashed that guilt rather ruthlessly.

…ненавижу это...

Rogers had teammates to help him, had eyes on the hall that he didn't have. He had no SA on the hall, and all he saw out here, crouched in his perch on a broad oak branch, hidden by the leaves, was the occasional hand-holding couple wandering by on the path. The Inhuman security force under Jiaying's command still remained where they were, but he was quite sure that none of them had seen him enter the gardens, or take position in the tree. He had his own mission to focus on, and he would apologize to Rogers later – he would add it to the shit list of things he needed to apologize for.

There had been little to no word from either his counterpart or Barton about the potential location of Romanov, not even on the secondary secured line the three of them were connected by. However, given what he had heard his counterpart state in the aggressive negotiations with Jiaying, he knew that Romanov had been spotted somewhere. All he had to do now was wait for the Widow to be flushed out, and to kill her when the time came. She was not a target to be kept alive.

“I see her,” Barton's whispered words through the secondary line brought him back out of his brief musing as he blinked. “First floor, near the water globe fountain, standing with her back against the fountain. She's definitely trying to take in a lot of SA.”

“I guess Jiaying wouldn't mind some lucky pennies in her fountain then,” he heard his counterpart state. “Keep your perch, Hawkeye, if you can, and give me directions.”

He listened to the murmurs of directions between Barton and his counterpart, as they slowly worked in concert to maneuver Romanov towards the gardens. The HYDRA agent was excellent at evading, but it was clear through the chatter that she was a little spooked by the appearance of his counterpart dressed up as Coulson. How spooked Romanov was, was still an unknown--

“Team Two, we have a problem here,” Johnson's voice cut into the main encrypted com channel. “Trip and the target are away, but Jiaying's security aren't letting Cap and I leave.”

“Repeat, Quake,” he heard his counterpart state over the main channel.

“We would like to see your work finished, Director Coulson,” the voice belonging to the Inhuman that he had heard identified as Raina, stated into the com channel.

Silence answered the woman's statement, and to their professional credit, neither Barton nor his counterpart made any half-assed threatening statements in retaliation. Bucky heard his counterpart answer in a tight tone, “We will be done shortly.” There was a pause before he heard him say, “Hawkeye, just like Budapest. Nomad, get ready. Incoming in less than a minute.”

“Well, there goes the 'no international incident' clause--”

“This is exactly how Jiaying was able to corner us last time,” he heard his counterpart coldly and angrily state. “We have exactly five minutes to kill her. Get to work.”

“The hell are you doing Raina--” Johnson began to say over the main channel.

There were sounds of a violent scuffle, and a few wet thunks heard, but Bucky immediately tuned the sounds out, even though he could feel the anger within him growing colder by the second. The noise was coming from both channels, but it was the main channel that he was concerned with. He wanted to race in there, to forget about killing Black Widow, to go help and free Rogers, to be there for him, fighting with him, protecting him until the end of the line – and this was not the end of the line for either of them. Not by a long shot – not when they were trapped in a forsaken world that was not their own – not when they were freer than they were now, even as fugitives from the law.

He drew on the memories, the thousands of fragments, the emotional pain within him, to stop himself from reacting, from jumping down-- “Nomad, she's yours!”

He struck.

Like an eagle leaping off of its perch and diving with its talons extended for the kill, Bucky plowed feet first into the chest of Romanov, knocking her back, and knocking her black wig off of her head. He tumbled forward and rolled back up, spinning and holding up the two blades he had within his hands. With her blonde hair revealed under the faint moonlight, he immediately lunged in, just as she sprang up as well.

Her snap-kick was faster than he anticipated, but not fast enough for him to let go of the knife in his good hand, dropping it and his wrist just enough so that she didn't break it. It allowed him to duck and whip around, bringing his mechanical hand up in a thrust that had her leaning backwards. She was unbalanced just enough for him to drop his own weight down to the ground, sliding just so that his feet kicked hers out from under. As she dropped, he grabbed her flailing wrist and slammed her to his right.

Rolling up with her drop, she wriggled out of his grip kicking her legs back, striking him in the lower part of his back. He grunted with the pain that exploded with the impact – that was where his wounds from his fight against Dottie had been the greatest and was still not completely healed. Still he did not let go of her wrist as she twisted back up, forcing him to fight on a knee. He immediately let go just as she attempted to cartwheel his grip, lest she break his good wrist and try to wrench his mechanical one with her super-soldier strength.

He struck again, feinting right then left, as she raised her arms to block his blow. He was barely fast enough to block her attempt to knee him in the chest, as she leaned in and struck upwards towards his chin with an open palm of her hand. He rolled with the strike, dropping the other knife so that he did not stab himself. As he fell, he lashed out with a snap-kick at her attempt to tumble over him. His strike was true enough to cause their legs to tangle and for her to crash to the ground.

She was faster in recovery though, as razor sharp pain lanced up and down his spine with his fall. That agonizing pain became all the more intense as he realized he was having trouble breathing-- It was only because he managed to raise his mechanical arm first and apply the full power behind it that he stopped the blade that he had dropped and that she had picked up, from being stabbed into his eye.

He stared up for one split second, seeing the sliver of the blade about a half a centimeter from being plunged into his eye, the blankness in her eyes – that same blankness when the monster within took over. His mechanical arm was whirring with all of its might to keep her there, to keep the enormous pressure she exerted in trying to get that blade into his head, from being in his head.

She was straddling him, using her legs to squeeze his sides, to squeeze the air out of his diaphragm and lungs. Her other arm was splayed out, pinning his good arm on the ground. He could still move his legs, but to do so would only allow the pressure she exerted on him to send that blade into his head.

There was only one thing left for him to do, and he knew just how risky it was, but he did it anyways. Releasing the catch on the mechanical blade in his wrist, it flew out and lanced straight into her arm that pinned his good arm down. Not even a split second later he was already rolling towards the same side, bringing his mechanical arm further up as he felt the blade bite into the sleeve of the lightly armored black fatigues he wore, rip across the fabric, and score across the arm. Curling and kicking her in the stomach with all of his might as she partially collapsed from the unexpected flat black blade in her arm, she skidded back and hit the base of a stone bench.

It was not enough to fully knock her out as he drew in a much needed breath and forced himself to stand, even as the haze of pain from his injuries threatened to overwhelm him. She was already uncurling as he charged in to kick her again, but she unexpectedly sprang up, cat-like and with faster reflexes for someone who had just been stunned. He barely blocked her helicoptering kick, as she spun on her hands, acrobatically using her momentum to flip up and into the tree behind the bench.

He ran after her and attempted to swing up onto a branch, but she was too fast, and him in too much pain, and too injured to chase after her. He tried to will himself to climb, to run after her, to stop her because—because—

_Pop!_

It was the noise that came from behind him, and the fact his instincts screamed at him to move, to dodge, to do anything to get away, that cut through the fog that enveloped and slowed his movements. He leapt away. Tumbling to the ground and rolling backwards, he faced the new threat with his arms raised and fists curled. Standing near the stone bench was a man dressed in a tuxedo, tall, thin, and who looked blind. There was nothing on the man to indicate that he had any sort of weapons, but his instincts were still screaming at him to move.

_Pop!_

He turned, just as he felt the strange displacement of air behind him, but it was too late for him to escape, as he felt spindly arms encircle him and rip him away from where he was standing. His vision swam from the dark gardens, and was filled the next instance by a grey concrete floor and white ceiling as he rolled from the impact. He slammed into the wall, grunting from the spike of pain that surged through his back. It was enough though, for him to focus and snap his eyes open, as he forced himself to get up – only to get enough to kneel, as a rather sharp, long, and thick blade was pressed against his neck.

He looked up along the blade, or rather arm, to see a small, diminutive woman behind that bladed arm, staring rather dispassionately at him. His balaclava that he had been wearing as a part of his disguise to blend into the dark gardens was yanked off his head by someone else and tossed to the side. It was then he realized that in this room that he had been somehow transported into, were the rest of Strike Bravo. They were all being held captive with various assortments of weapons, some from whatever natural abilities the Inhumans had on them. The only person missing from Strike Bravo was Triplett.

They had run out of time.

~~~

Steve couldn't even cry out Bucky's name, as the spiked blades from Raina's Inhuman powers on either side of his neck were held so close that he could swear he felt the edges biting into his skin. There was a defiant look in Bucky's eyes as he was unmasked, but that slowly turned into realization as he his eyes move to take in the room, seeing the rest of Strike Bravo, except for Triplett, kneeling across the room, being held against their will by Jiaying's security force. It was clear to him, even from the distance of half of the room that separated them, that Bucky was injured, or had reopened his previous, still-not-healed wounds. He had fought someone, most likely the HYDRA target--

“She got away,” he heard Gordon state. “She did put up an extremely good fight against him though. Were her opponent not injured as so, I believe that he may have killed her.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly as he realized that the HYDRA target that James, Clint, and Bucky had been after was none other than Black Widow. A momentary bloom of anger filled him at the recklessness of James attempting to send both him and Johnson back to the quinjet, when the other three had been tracking and targeting Natasha. However, that anger quickly died – it didn't matter now.

“We did as agreed upon, Jiaying,” he heard James state in Coulson's voice. How James was actually keeping his tone as even as possible was surprising to him. “There is no need for this.”

“Only one has been fulfilled, Director Coulson,” Jiaying stated as Steve saw out of the corner of his eyes, the woman move to stand next to him, before she gracefully knelt down on James' right. “But I was never negotiating with the commander of SHIELD, was I?”

She was not gentle in ripping the photo-static veil off of James' face, along with the wig that he was wearing. Steve nearly jerked to his left with Raina's blades shallowly cutting into him, as he saw Jiaying suddenly drop the veil and wig on the ground and strike at James, wrapping her thin, long fingers around his neck. With more strength than he thought possible in the thin figure she carried upon her, she slammed James onto the ground with one hand still around his neck, growling, “So you offer yourself up as a sacrifice, Captain. You admit to betraying the haven of my people with the excuse of flushing the mole out! Who is that HYDRA agent?!”

“Mother!” he heard Johnson shout at the same time. She had her fists bound by painful twine to prevent her from leashing her powers, in addition to a globe of water the size of her head encompassing half of her head. The Inhuman who stood behind her was ready to drown her in the rest of the water globe. “We didn't give your location, Mother!” Johnson pleaded. “We didn't do that! HYDRA found you! They got lucky! Please!”

“Jiaying, stop it!” he said, even though he knew that his words were most likely not going to sway the Inhuman leader. “Stop it! We didn't betray you!”

“What trickery, what _negotiations_ did you use, Captain Barnes, to have HYDRA create a clone--” Jiaying began, as Steve saw her tighten her grip around James' neck.

“Jiaying,” one of her security forces unexpectedly interrupted her.

Steve's eyes snapped over from where James was lying, dazed and trying to draw breath, to where the diminutive woman with blades for hands was holding them against Bucky. She had removed one of her bladed hands and had moved it to where there was a tear within the sleeve of the black fatigues, dragging the tear a little more open to expose Bucky's metal arm. He could see the minute twitching of Bucky's fingers, both metal and flesh one, wanting to take action, but the woman was still holding her other bladed hand firmly against his jugular, and had already drawn a small trickle of blood.

“Jiaying,” the woman said again, looking at her leader, “Robin's words and drawings.”

“A disguise,” Jiaying dismissively stated. “A piece of information that that HYDRA agent fed to them. Another photo-static veil. Rip it off.”

“Jiaying, it's real,” the woman stated, tapping her blade against Bucky's arm, as the sound of metal hitting vibranium dully rang in the silence.

Steve saw her go still for a second, before she suddenly let James go, standing up quite quickly. He heard James cough quite hoarsely, gasping as he took deep breaths, and attempted to move to help him up. However, Raina's spike against his throat pressed a little further into his skin, preventing him from moving towards James. “Don't move, Captain,” he heard her say to James, as she placed her long spike that had grown out out of her left hand against the side of James' neck to keep him from sitting up or moving to do anything rash.

It was Jiaying's sudden turn and approach towards Bucky that snapped his attention from James, as he shouted, “Leave him alone!” Blade pressing into his skin or not, he could not let the leader of the Inhumans hurt Bucky--

“Show me his arm,” Jiaying demanded. Steve heard cloth rip as the sleeve of Bucky's outfit was fully ripped away, and the black glove he had worn over his fingers stripped as well, revealing the gleaming silver arm. In response, the leader of the Inhumans merely said, “Gordon.”

Two quick _pop-pop_ indicated the exit and reentry of the teleporting Inhuman, but instead of holding a weapon or anything else that could constitute a physical threat against Bucky, Steve saw the supposedly blind Inhuman approach with a plain manila folder. He handed it to Jiaying who opened it, looked through the contents before closing it. There was nothing from the angle he could see of Jiaying's face, that told him what she was thinking, nor what the folder contained.

“Let them go,” Jiaying unexpectedly stated, turning back towards the rest of them and approached James again. She dropped the folder onto the ground in front of James, saying, “Robin's words are still true. Sound the evacuation. HYDRA will be here in three hours.”

Without another word to them, or even an apology, the Inhumans retracted their weapons, and abilities that they had been holding against Strike Bravo. Not even a half-minute later, the room was completely empty, as the last of the footsteps belonging to Jiaying and her security force faded. Steve blinked, as exhaustion, surprise, and disbelief filled him. He was not the only one to sit there, dumbfounded as to what had just happened, as he saw Clint rubbing the sides of his head. Clint had been held hostage by a scaly-looking Inhuman who had merely placed a webbed finger against Clint's temple to hold him still and silence him for the matter.

“The hell happened?” Johnson was the first to break the silence.

It was enough for Steve to shake himself out of his confusion as he helped James sit up, hearing him say in a hoarse voice, “Don't know, don't really fucking care.”

Seeing that he was more alert, Steve then got up and went over to where Bucky was. There was nothing in his friend's eyes to suggest that he was in shock, but he did see him flick his eyes up, looking relieved but a concerned at the same time. Deciding that it was for the better to not say anything and just let his actions speak for themselves, Steve carefully slung Bucky's silver arm across his shoulders, helping him stand up. There was a dampness to Bucky's back, as Steve realized that his wounds must have reopened during the fight with Black Widow, as he gingerly slipped his other arm across his shoulders and helped him across the room.

“Three hours,” he heard James say, as he saw him pull Clint off from the ground, the dropped folder clutched in his other hand. Johnson immediately slipped in onto the other side of Clint and helped the still-injured archer out. “Let's not be here.”

* * *

Though Rogers' touch and the application of the bandages on his back was gentle, it was still quite painful to Bucky. He however, didn't show any signs of discomfort, preferring that the medical ministration be done quickly and in one go. All of his stitching on his back had ripped, but thankfully, his accelerated healing had prevented the deepest of his wounds from completely reopening. Only a few of the stitches had been reapplied by Rogers, with most of the other wounds instead, covered and taped down by gauze pads. With all things considered, he knew that he had been lucky to not have been killed by Black Widow in his injured state – that he had been too confident in his own abilities, of being able to draw upon his memories to help him fight.

The last of the small pressure of Rogers pressing down on the gauze tape to secure it to his back disappeared, and a moment later, he felt him begin to roll down the shirt he had worn under the lightly armored fatigues. He remained where he was, even though he knew that he could tug his own damn shirt down himself without disturbing the bandages. At this very moment, because of what had happened in that fight, the desperate thoughts that came before it and after he had been teleported into that room, he knew that he had a choice to make: to either--

“Stevie's location matches the drawing and paper,” he heard his counterpart say as his noisy entrance up the ramp drew their attention, evaporating his current train of thoughts. He saw Johnson pause in her medical ministrations on Barton, whose own wounds from the Zephyr crash had also partially reopened in whatever scuffle he had engaged in with the Widow before flushing her out into the gardens.

“I'll see if I can find schematics of the place, sir,” Johnson said, finishing up her patching of Barton before snatching up her laptop and began to furiously type.

“Not yet, Daisy,” his counterpart stated, just as Triplett returned, giving his counterpart a curt nod of his head. Bucky didn't even have to ask what happened to Callahan, as it was clear from both the pilot and his counterpart's stances that after they had gotten verbal confirmation of Rogers' counterpart's location, they had carried out 'justice' in the name of the fallen crew members of the Zephyr.

“Sir?” Johnson questioned, as Triplett passed all of them and returned to the cockpit.

“They're still evacuating. You can still go with them. There's still a half-hour before HYDRA is supposed to arrive.”

The confusion that initially played out on Johnson's expression in response to her commander's offer to leave turned into anger, but then slid into despair and bitterness as she said in a calm, controlled tone, “No, sir. I'm not leaving. I will not abandon my post, my duties, or my _family_. Jiaying and her people can go rot in the middle of the Pacific for all I care. What they did to us, to SHIELD is reprehensible, and I don't want to ever see them again.”

“Are you sure?” he heard his counterpart question a few moments after silence had fallen in the cargo hold.

“Yes.”

Bucky couldn't help but feel a small amount of concern well up as he saw his counterpart sigh seemingly in frustration and nod in response to Johnson's affirmative. “Start searching for those schematics, Daisy.” It seemed though, that his counterpart was not quite yet done as he saw him turn his attention to both him and Rogers saying, “Trip is trying to contact Director Carter to see if she can release Strike Charlie from Intel Base's evac duties to come pick the two of you and Clint up in Kiev.”

“Wait a fucking minute, Bucky, you're not seriously going to bench us?!” he heard Barton exclaim, as he saw his counterpart turn slightly to face the archer. “It's a fucking HYDRA facility. A three-man team is not going to be able to get through their defenses!”

“I'm not injured, James,” he heard Rogers pipe up from beside him. “I'm going with you guys.”

“A three-man team rescued Bravo from Camp Lehigh, Clint,” his counterpart argued, before turning his attention back to Rogers, saying, “and no. You're a liability.”

“I'm a what?!” Rogers exclaimed, looking incredibly offended. “Where the hell--”

Incensed and annoyed, but not at Rogers or at Barton for their protests – or Johnson for the matter either – Bucky immediately stood up, ignoring the flare of pain that rocketed up his back from his sudden movement. He grabbed his counterpart by the front of his shirt, bodily lifting him up off the ground for a brief moment before slamming him with just enough force to hopefully knock some sense into him, into the hull of the quinjet.

“Get off of your high horse, Captain,” he hissed, “and get it through your head that we are not the only ones compromised. You're compromised as well, and right now, you might think that leading a team of emotional hot-heads is going to get more people killed – get us killed. Well guess what, asshole, we are not dead yet.”

He let go of him, and stepped away, suddenly needing air and the cool breeze from the cliff side site – about thirty kilometers away – that they had moved the quinjet to after they had left the gala. As he descended the ramp and stepped off of it and to the side, he briefly closed his eyes as the sounds of whatever else was happening in the interior of the quinjet faded for a moment. The words he had stated were somewhat familiar, a memory from long ago, but the context of them were not. He could only recall a somewhat pieced together fragment of him saying something similar. Something in that memory told him that this particular fragment had to be kept secret and buried from Rogers...

_Bucky managed to crack open an eye, as he blearily saw the foot that had given him one final kick in the stomach had turned away from him. Before that foot could take a step away though, he willed himself to lash out, to grab onto the socked ankle, to the high-quality suit trouser that the man – his father – wore. Looking up as his father's motion was briefly arrested, he forced himself to growl out, “Guess what, asshole, I'm not dead yet.”_

He opened his eyes again as the fragment faded away. Try as he might, he didn't know what came before or after it, only that the words frighteningly resonated with the Winter Soldier memories. He knew that he was right, to have stated that they were all compromised in an emotional sense, some more than others. Yet, Bucky couldn't help shake the feeling that with the memories he remembered more and more now, perhaps he was not so different from the Winter Soldier.

Perhaps... he had always been the Winter Soldier; had always been since childhood.

 

~*~*~*~

 


	14. Memory: добросердечный

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**добросердечный** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Time: Afternoon, no additional fragments_

_Location: European Front, no additional fragments_

 

“What about that girl from Logistics? Light brown-hair, looks like there's some tinge of red if the light hits her hair right--”

“Maria?” Bucky answered, giving Steve a slightly incredulous look.

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking puzzled. “Why are you giving me that look? You know I'm just trying to help. You used to set me up with girls, and I want to do the same for you.”

At that Bucky laughed, before saying, “Thanks, punk. I really do appreciate it, but apart from the fact that I can still charm a girl without your help—no, do not bring up the fact that your girl completely ignored me the first time we made introductions—you still need some lessons.”

“Lessons?” Steve asked, looking dubious. In an indignant tone, he heard him exclaim, “I do know how sex--”

Bucky sighed and affectionately hit Steve on the back of his helmet, “No. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about your lack of skills in observation when it comes to people being _interested_ in you... or others. Don't you dare set me up with Maria. She's already taken, and I ain't feeling like being on the receiving end of Howard Stark's rumored anger towards anyone who crosses him.”

“Wait,” Steve paused, causing Bucky to stop as well in the middle of the forest they had been patrolling in, creating the perimeter that was to be the Howling Commandos' camp tonight.

Though they were not yet behind enemy lines, this area was considered no man's land, given just how much destruction had been laid waste to the forests. The pock-marked ground was also evidence of the shelling that had gone on between the Germans and Allied forces. No one in their right mind would make camp on such grounds, which was why the Howling Commandos had chosen it.

“Howard fancies Maria?!” Steve continued, surprise evident on his face.

As exasperated as a part of Bucky felt, he found it more hilarious than exasperation to see the myriad of confusion and some coloring of Steve's cheeks appear and disappear as he worked through the logic. He could reasonably assume with some accuracy that Steve most likely thought that Howard spent all of his free time down in his laboratories, concocting whatever new gadgets the Commandos would test out on their next mission. If he hadn't been as observant as he usually was, Bucky knew that he'd be assuming something similar.

Alas though, Howard's butler, Edwin Jarvis, was an easy person to follow without him knowing any wiser. Thus, it was how Bucky had discovered that Howard was sweet on Maria from Logistics. But he wasn't about to tell Steve how he knew of Howard's gifts to Maria – it would spoil the fun, and besides, the conversation could possibly skirt towards more of the things that he was trying to keep Steve from knowing about.

Lustful looks aside, Bucky was having a tougher time keeping the more 'overzealous' admirers of Steve away from Steve – so much that he was seriously considering enlisting Peggy's help when they got back to headquarters. He knew that Peggy knew of the admirers, but to what extent she knew of the zeal they displayed and sometimes acted upon was a mystery to him. Many people in headquarters called her 'whip-smart', but Bucky had two different words for the keen intelligence she displayed – not only with the information she briefed them on, but her poise and drive she showed to all.

Astutely wise.

“Yeah,” he answered, returning his attention to the matter at hand as he brushed his musings away. “So just not her. I'm fine with anyone else you want to try to set up.”

“Okay,” Steve answered after a moment, shrugging as if the news no longer surprised him. “How about--”

_Click_.

Silence crashed down upon them as both of their eyes were immediately drawn to Steve's extended right leg – specifically the boot pressed to the dusty, red-pine covered ground. A dozen curses floated across his thoughts, some of them not in English as he said, “Don't move, Steve.”

Swinging his rifle to his back, he crouched down and gingerly brushed the dead pine needles away from Steve's boot. He was careful himself not to step forward or away from where he was; as he too did not want to accidentally step on a landmine as Steve had done – otherwise, both of them were going to be in trouble. He managed to clear the pine needles about the length of his hand away from Steve's boot without feeling any other pressure mechanism under his fingertips.

However, the ground he cleared around Steve's boot was hard-packed, dry, and not the soft earth he had hoped it to be. It had not rained in the area for the past few days, and from what he could feel on the ground, the dirt was not going to crumble easily. It would be difficult and dangerous to dig around the mine that Steve had stepped on to try to slip a counterweight in between Steve's foot and the pressure mechanism.

“So how does it look, Bucky?” he heard Steve ask in a casual tone. Bucky heard stress in that tone, even though he knew that Steve tried to mask it.

“Well, your boots could use a little bit of spit-shine,” he answered just as casually. “They're a little out of regs.”

He had to try. He had to try as best, no—he had to do it. There was no try in this situation. He had to make sure Steve survived with both of his legs intact. Faster healing or no, Bucky was no fool to know that even with the serum, Steve could not regrow a lost limb like a lizard.

“Is that the sergeant in you talking?” Steve quipped, but the underlying stressed tone was still present.

“Hold on, let me see what I can do,” he answered, reaching back into one of his belt's leather compartments and pulled out his trusty combat knife.

“Bucky,” Steve began just as Bucky was about to begin tentatively digging a shallow hole in the ground around Steve's boot, “it would be faster if you'd just leave and let me--”

“We are not having this argument, Steve,” he interrupted him, a momentary flash of anger overtaking him as he looked up from where he was crouched and glared. “I already told you a long time ago – I'm with you, until the end of the line. Even here in this hell hole.”

Focusing his attention back on the ground and Steve's boot, the anger within him swiftly abated as he pressed the edge of his knife into the ground and began to scrape away the earth. Silence answered his words for the next few minutes as he continued to scrape a shallow layer around the boot. “Besides,” he said after a fairly good indent had been made, and he had not yet encountered any sort of metal that indicated the depth of the buried mine or what type it was. “Covering the mine with the shield will do little if the underground shockwave sets off other mines. Especially if it's a mine that HYDRA planted.”

“I know,” he heard Steve softly answer. He glanced up to see him look around, saying, “At least it solves the mystery of why most of the trees still look intact when it looked like the ground had been shelled.”

“I suppose so,” he answered, returning his attention to the task at hand.

He scraped the ground out for the next few minutes in silence, well aware that even a super-soldier such as Steve still involuntarily twitched every so often. So far, the stillness that Steve displayed was as if he were a statue. Bucky wasn't going to discount the fact that at any moment, his best friend could twitch, no matter how hard he tried to control it. Soon, Bucky's knife hit something metal, and from that small sound, he scraped outwards, trying to find the perimeter of the mine to try to identify the type that Steve had stepped on.

“Bucky?” Steve's calling of his name broke the silence.

“Yeah?” he answered, carefully creating the perimeter of the cleared dirt on the upper hull of the mine around the boot.

“They made us write Wills before they selected who would undergo Project Rebirth,” Steve continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Since my mother is dead, and I don't have any other family... well, I put you down as my executor and beneficiary. I don't have much to give you, but everything that I own is Willed to you. I hope you don't mind.”

Bucky's thoughts and actions screeched to a halt. He lifted his hand and the blade away from the ground, feeling his hands shake a little. As much as he wanted to tell Steve that he should now change the beneficiary to Peggy, he refrained from saying those words. Steve and Peggy were not married yet, but he could see that happening as soon as the war ended – maybe even before it ended. Those two were perfect for each other. Yet this was the here and now, and at this very moment, something in Steve's words, however morbid they were, touched him.

Instead his traitorous tongue and thoughts said out loud, “I did the same before they shipped us out.”

“But... your mother, your sisters...” Steve began after a moment. Bucky could imagine the shock playing across his face. “Why?”

He ignored him and resumed digging. It was not that he knew Steve would figure out the first and foremost reason of his choosing who to execute his Will and receive the survivor's benefits; it was getting into territory that he even he himself was not yet ready to confront. He knew that his mother and sisters would survive without him, but Steve... Mentally shaking his head, he reconfirmed to himself that yeah, he was not yet ready to confront those other thoughts yet.

Maybe he would never have to, if things between Steve and Peggy were going the way they were going.

Instead, after a few more minutes of careful scraping and digging, he finally uncovered the base of mine. “Here we go,” he murmured, finagling the knife on its tip and carefully sliding it in between the dirt wall and metal disc. Carefully chiseling away at the dirt and creating a widened perimeter along the wall of the mine, he finally found the area he was looking for. While he was by no means, an expert in mines or disabling one, he knew enough from Jones' excited ramblings to have an idea of what to look for.

“Well,” he stated in a louder tone, grinning slightly before looking up towards Steve, “it's not HYDRA-made, that's for sure.”

“Nice work there with the carving, Michelangelo of the Mine,” Steve dryly answered. “So I guess that means I have a fifty-fifty chance of setting off other mines in the area, then?”

“I--” Bucky began but heard a _click-click_ with the tiniest shifting of Steve's weight through his boot on the mine. The breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding was expelled as soon as a few seconds passed and he realized that neither he nor Steve were bits and pieces scattered over the length of this small portion of no-man's land. He frowned; surely it couldn't be... but then again, most of it had been buried under the hard layer of earth...

“Do that again,” he immediately stated.

“Do what?” Steve asked.

“Move your foot on the mine a little--”

“What?!”

“Trust me,” he said, looking up, matching Steve's incredulous look with a seriousness of his own.

Steve blinked once, twice, before saying, “Only if you stand behind me, and hold the shield in front of you.”

Seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, Bucky knew that his best friend would not budge from that line of thought or order. He knew that Steve would definitely make it an order and even write him up for disobeying said order. He got up. Sheathing his knife, he sighed and stepped back, taking the shield that had been strapped to Steve's arm. Holding it lower than he knew what Steve would approve of, he peered over Steve's shoulder, watching him wiggle his foot over the mine for a moment.

_Click-click_.

There was no explosion accompanying the sound, not even a full minute after both of them had clearly heard it and waited for the fiery death to happen. “It's been disarmed or damaged enough that the mechanism doesn't work anymore,” he surmised, stepping out from behind Steve and crouching back down, gesturing to it. “My guess is that since its been buried under so much dirt, we couldn't hear the double-click until it was uncovered. It's completely benign.”

“And no one sought to toss it away,” Steve said, shaking his head slightly as he gingerly crouched, his boot still on the mechanism.

“Keeps people away,” he answered, shrugging slightly, handing Steve his shield. “You can stop stepping on it now, Steve. It ain't exploding any time soon.”

Gingerly, as if he still couldn't believe it, Bucky saw Steve remove his foot, shifting so that he was now crouched in a more comfortable position. “Let's get rid of this one. It might be a dud, but the ground in this area is still dangerous. I'll draw up a watch rotation when we get back to camp since we can't scout out the rest of the perimeter.”

“All right,” he said, nodding as he pulled out his knife and resumed cutting the mine free from its earthly prison. Benign mine or not, he waited until Steve walked far enough away to audibly sigh in relief. Lifting his hands up for a moment, he stared at them, palms face up. They were shaking, his hands were shaking – this had been the closest he had ever gotten to losing Steve thus far.

He couldn't help but wonder, just how many more times they had before either of their luck ran out.

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**добросердечный** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	15. возвращение на родину (Homecoming)

 

**Chapter 8: возвращение на родину (Homecoming)**

 

No one had wanted to discuss what had happened to cause Jiaying to turn against SHIELD, or the sudden departure of her people; triggered strangely by Bucky's metal arm, and whatever Robin had told the Inhumans long ago. Even after James had briefed Peggy on the situation, had gotten confirmation of the location of Stevie from both Callahan and one of the three drawings in the manila folder, it was as if the six of them had all silently agreed to not speculate or linger on the nearly botched mission. Getting to Stevie and the other possible survivors from the Zephyr was their priority now.

As desolate and abandoned-to-ruin as the facility looked, situated just outside of the uninhabited city of Whitehorse in the Yukon territory, it was still an enormous facility. There were several floors of industrial-grade pipes, electrical boxes, mechanical items, and many other things that hinted as to what the facility used to be. However, even the sweeping overhead flyby, nothing alluding to HYDRA or military-grade defenses had been detected by the scanners housed within the quinjet. All that had been detected was fact that someone had powered up the geothermal power plant a few weeks ago. It was dying though, as whomever had powered it up had not seemingly gotten it working to keep on drawing the minuscule amount of power that they were detecting.

The six of them had descended the quinjet, armed with an assortment of weaponry. Since he no longer had a shield to wield, Steve had equipped himself, rather reluctantly though, with a rifle and a pistol. It was not like the high-powered ones that James, Triplett, and Bucky had equipped themselves with, though out of all of them, Bucky had taken up an enormous amount of armaments that even had James gaping in astonishment. Johnson was armed with both her bracers and two pistols on either side of her hip holsters.

Clint had taken up two katanas and the sniper rifle before Bucky could get to it. The fact that Clint was openly carrying katanas, prompted Triplett to crack a joke about bringing a knife to a gun fight. To which Bucky had demonstrated for Triplett's sake, exactly how even a high-powered rifle could be completely useless in CQC. Triplett had taken back his words immediately after that demonstration, muttering how he did not want to ever come across either Bucky or Clint in a dark alleyway in Detroit.

It had broken enough of the tension though, that had sat in the air between all of them – loosening them up enough to focus on the mission and to fall back into a cohesive unit. Macau was something that Steve knew he would never forget, not only because of what had almost happened, but because despite the brief fugue that Bucky had fallen into on the quinjet, he was right. They were all compromised – they were charging into this rescue mission, barely holding their heads above water. Even as level-headed as he tried to make himself, Steve knew that there had been so many different ways that the mission could have ended – should have ended.

They were not dead yet, but if they did not check themselves, they were going to end up dead. Never had he felt so ashamed of himself, so disappointed that for all the levelheadedness he had displayed and shown in front of the Commandos, there had been no such display here in this reality. He was being incredibly reckless, even more so as he knew that part of it was influenced by Bucky... and also by James.

He wanted to tell himself that he didn't care, that he had his best friend with him, that he was not alone as a stranger in a strange world anymore. It was true, but at the same time, he knew and remembered that if he cut himself loose, if he became as reckless as Bucky had been when they had been children, it would only drive Bucky to be even more rash. He, Steve, was the stubborn one who always cautioned, always held back, always took the higher ground and forced Bucky to do so – and he knew that he needed to reign his own devil-may-care behavior in.

At the moment, that meant keeping his voice calm, even, and curt as he and the rest of Strike Bravo were searching across the seemingly empty geothermal plant. It was not ideal, as they were all spread out without a battle buddy to back them, but it was necessary, due to the size of the plant. There were at least seven, if not more floors that they could see from the entrance that opened up into a cavernous centralized area. Considering that they could not pinpoint the exact location of where power was being drawn or sent to, they had to follow the hiss of steam running through various pipes, the flicker of electricity through the lights, and the hum of the dying generators to try to find where the crew of the Zephyr were.

Steve kept his rifle up, close and finger on the trigger as he cautiously stepped around a bend in the corner. He swept his rifle up and down, but did not see anything jump out over the length of the long hall. He was on the third floor, following the sounds of trickling water through a pipe above his head. One or two bulbs in this hall were lit, with the rest either burnt out or not being powered. There were a few adjacent halls or rooms down here – a fair sign, but nothing that would indicate signs of life or the crew.

Judging from the sparse com commentary, Clint had already cleared a similar type of hall on the fifth floor, and thus Steve was not holding onto a lot of hope that he would find some sign in this hall. Cautiously making his way down the hall, he listened carefully, hearing the trickle of water above his head continue down. Pausing at the first intersection, he listened for any unusual sounds, and when he heard none, he stepped in. He cleared the corners first before taking another step in, pausing as he stared at what laid in the room he had entered.

“Lead, this is Cap,” he stated into the com as he lowered his rifle, his throat dry as he stared at the bodies in various states of decay. It was as if someone had carelessly stuck the remaining crew members into the Framework and left them there to bleed out in the real world from their injuries. What that would accomplish was completely unknown to him, but it only served to feed into the cold anger that swirled within him. “I found some of the crew. They've been planted into the Framework. North west corner, third floor, past the giant green tank. They're dead.”

“Copy,” came the crisp, almost monotone acknowledgment from James.

“I'm checking the other rooms in this hall,” he stated, as he stepped back out and raised his rifle again.

Taking the few steps down the hall to the next, he stepped in, sweeping the corners clear before fully entering. It was the same as the one before, except that this time-- “Lead, I found her. She's in the Framework but she's still alive.” He looked wildly around – every other crew member in the room was dead – and made the decision to do what he had to do. Pushing his rifle to his side, he carefully removed and gently laid the SHIELD agent who had been placed next to her, on the ground. He removed the cage-like device from the man's head.

Stepping up to the platform, he glanced over towards Stevie, hoping, praying that he wasn't too late as he heard James acknowledge his report through com, telling him to stay where he was and to not engage. He couldn't obey the order, not if there was a good chance that Stevie was going to die soon – from the lack of power in this place, and from her partially healed wounds. A part of him knew it was hypocritical of him to discard his promise to himself to not be carelessly impulsive again, but at the moment, he didn't care. He needed to go in and get her out, to rescue her and bring her home.

“I'm going in!” he declared, and placed device over his head, cutting off whatever else was being said over com.

~~~

Bucky heard his counterpart swear up a storm over the com line before ordering the rest of them to converge on the location that Rogers had rattled off. It was reckless, extremely and utterly irresponsible of Rogers to have done such a thing, but it was also expected. It was how Rogers had grown up, throwing himself at situations that were turning bad, trying to right them again, trying to fix the world. While he wouldn't have called it a savior complex, Bucky compared it to more of an extreme version of a Good Samaritan than anything else.

As the others acknowledged the orders, breaths huffing over the com channel as they ran from where they had been, he too put in his acknowledgment, but did not sprint towards the area. It would be useless for him to do so, as there was no way any of them could yank both Rogers or Rogers' counterpart out of the Framework without killing them. Instead, he began to sweep backwards, carefully clearing all corners and open areas on his way to where Strike Team Bravo was gathering.

This place looked and felt abandoned, but Bucky knew better than to assume it was. Someone had turned on the power, left it on, and had hooked the survivors of the Zephyr crash up to the Framework within it. He was sure that someone or some people were still somewhere in this geothermal plant.

~~~

Silence enveloped him as he heard and felt himself breathing, shuddering, and falling. The sensation of free-falling through nothingness wasn't quite what he expected, but even as he blinked, he saw his surroundings become brighter and more landscape than building. Soon, the sound of gulls squawking for food filled his ears, and it was followed by a cool breeze that carried the scent of the salty air with it. Waves crashing on the shore accompanied the gulls, and the uneven terrain of sand caused him to take a step back to find sure footing beneath the boots he wore.

Steve looked up, blinking and squinting as he raised a hand to the sky to shield his eyes from the sun that beat down upon the beachscape that he had landed in. The horizon was far and away, and the beach seemingly endless. Even as he wandered up the dunes, all he saw was more beach, more undulating dunes of sand, and more waves. As soothing as the sounds and the seascape were to his mind, he wondered how he was going to find Stevie when it looked as if he couldn't find a way off or out of the beach.

It was the sound of children giggling that caught his attention in what felt like a few minutes of silence that had passed, filled only with the sounds of crashing waves. He turned towards the sound, and caught a glimpse of two children, a boy and a girl, running around, seemingly chasing each other for fun while splashing in the water. A little further away, standing about shin-deep in the water was a blur that looked like a man. The children sometimes ran up to the blur but mostly played among themselves. Sitting on the sand a little further away from the children was Stevie, long-haired, dressed in casual, light clothes, and had an umbrella providing some shade. She occasionally waved to the blur and the children.

He took a step forward, opening his mouth to call out to her, but a hand clamped onto his arm. He turned slightly back and came face-to-face with Tony. “Tony,” he began, surprised as he thought that the AI would have merged or at least been destroyed upon doing whatever he had attempted to do to Madam Hydra the last time he had seen him in the Framework.

“Don't, Rogers,” Tony answered, shaking his head slightly. Though the AI still looked the same, Steve could swear that there was more of a pallid pallor upon the AI's artificially projected skin. He was not wearing the Iron Man suit, but was wearing his usual casual outfit of a graphic t-shirt and cargo trousers. “Not yet,” the AI continued to say. “At least let her have a few more minutes of peace.”

“What's going on, Tony?” he asked, turning back towards the AI. “Who are the children? Who's the blurred man? Why can't I see him?”

“I created this for her,” Tony explained. “A small measure of peace that she had always wanted, always talked about. When she unexpectedly was reinserted in here, I had to protect her from Madam Hydra's attempt to take over her mind as she had done to Fitz.” The AI looked out towards the idyllic scene and Steve followed his gaze back towards Stevie.

“What about the other crew members? The Zephyr was shot down,” he stated. “Most of the crew were killed, including Director Coulson, but the survivors were inserted in here.”

“I had to make a choice. I had to be selfish,” the AI whispered, looking frustrated and regretful.

Steve studied Tony for a moment, understanding why Tony had done what he had done; just like he understood why Tony had thought that his actions to help Fitz had been right. “I need to get her out of here, Tony,” he said at last. “The power is dying in the place where they're keeping her and what was left of the crew. Can you build an exit?”

“I can only build one more,” the AI answered after a moment's hesitation, “and even then, Madam Hydra will detect it and try to stop me again. I wasn't strong enough to completely corrupt or stop her the last time. Give me a few minutes to prepare?”

“You're dying, aren't you?” he said as he realized what may have happened after he had exited the Framework the first time.

“Yeah,” Tony answered without any bravado or any sort of emotional inflection in his tone. “But I'll protect Stevie until the end.”

Steve felt a faint smile tug on his lips, despite the sadness he felt. “That man out there in the shallows, a representation of you? The life the two of you would have had in the real-world?”

“I don't know,” the AI admitted. “Barnes and I, we both loved her. We still do. I didn't want to force her to chose between us again, so I left the image vague – let her populate it with whomever she wanted.”

Steve remained silent, a bitter taste forming in his mouth. It was, in the oddest of sense, like looking into a broken mirror – between his reality and this one, where he had had to make a similar choice between Bucky and Tony. For love or for friendship it didn't matter – the choices that both he Stevie had made had caused their worlds to collapse around them. Steve knew that deep down, his choice had been made for both, and that it was a clear mirrored reflection of the choice that Stevie had made in her reality.

He looked back out, not towards Stevie, but towards the horizon, blinking back the sudden tears that had sprung into his eyes. He didn't know why he felt a sudden sweep of sorrow and regret engulf him before quickly washing away like the waves that crashed upon the shore. Yet, with each wave he saw receding, it felt as if a heavy burden upon him was slowly lessening. He had made his choice and it was the right choice – there was no wrong in it – because despite writing and burning away that regret in that campfire so long ago on that cold November day in 1944, he had never fully burned it from his heart.

He took a few calm and deep breaths before turning back to Tony, asking, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

~~~

“You hear that?”

“Да,” Bucky quietly answered, before giving Barton the appropriate Army hand signals for him to go to the other side of the long hall that ran perpendicular to the one that Rogers had found the remaining crew members of the Zephyr in. As he moved to the other end, he could hear the quiet _snickt_ of Barton's blades being withdrawn from their sheathes. The sound of booted feet echoing from the first floor and climbing, and from all the way from the top of the building descending down started to grow.

“Lead,” he heard Johnson state into the com, as she took up the final position at the beginning of the hall that Rogers and the others were in, “we got incoming.”

“Copy,” his counterpart answered.

“So that's not you shaking the building, Quake?” Triplett asked.

“Nope. I'll let you know if I do that though, 'cause then this place is either going to collapse or blow sky high,” Johnson stated.

“How many?” he heard his counterpart ask after a moment, hearing the noise of both him and Triplett, closer to the rooms and trying to figure out what to do with the bodies, ready their weapons.

“A lot more than any of us are equipped to handle,” Barton answered, as Bucky caught a glimpse of the beginnings of the black-fatigued troops flitting in and around the many tanks, mechanical apparatuses, metal cabinets, and pipes that filled the place.

He lifted his high-powered rifle up and sighted through it. The incoming HYDRA forces were not equipped with conventional rifles and armaments – all of them were wielding the familiar glowing blue rifles created from the tesseract.

~~~

As soon as Steve placed a gentle hand upon Stevie's shoulder, the beach, ocean, the children, the sounds of the gulls and waves, and even the blurred man disappeared. “Stevie,” he said, removing his hand as his counterpart jumped slightly and turned, looking confusedly around.

“S-Steve?” she stuttered in surprise before despair eclipsed her expression as she looked around, whipping her now short again hair this way and that. “Where are they? Where is he? Where are Caroline and Howie?”

She was becoming hysterical, and Steve could see it was not from the fact that she was becoming aware that she was within the Framework. It was from the fact that her idyllic life was merging with reality, and that Tony had shielded her, creating a world and a life to live, similar to what Madam Hydra had done to Fitz and the others. He looked around, trying to find Tony, trying to see if the AI had any idea what could be done, as he did not want to knock her out and have her last thoughts of this world be that of confusion.

Tony was nowhere to be seen, as the last of the beach and ocean dissolved to a blank, almost grey-like surrounding that was only illuminated where he and Stevie stood. “Stevie,” he said, reaching out and gently grasped her by her arm, trying to calm her down. “It's not real,” he said as she focused back on him, blinking in confusion. “It was never real. You need to leave, you need to go. This isn't your life here. You have friends waiting for you outside, Stevie. You need to come home.”

He could feel his heart ache at the distraught expression upon her face as he saw that his words were affecting her, shaking the second life she had here away. He couldn't bear the open, naked pain etched in her eyes as the world she had thought she lived in crumbled into dust, and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close to him. “It's all right,” he said, remembering his mother holding him the same way he held her at the moment, soothing him after he had returned home beaten and hurting. “It will be all right.”

“How... why?” came the whispered questions as he felt her shudder once before taking a more calming and deep breath. He let her go, seeing that though she still looked heartbroken, there was more of an understanding in her eyes than a few moments before. “Tony,” she began, looking around, “no, oh Tony--”

She never got to finish her despairing realization, as she was suddenly hit on the back of her head hard enough to knock her out. Steve immediately caught her before she could topple over, staring at Tony, who had suddenly manifested behind her, in utter shock. “It's for the better. Can't hold out much longer, Steve,” Tony stated, gesturing behind him.

He turned slightly and saw that there was a plain door, white in color. He turned back to Tony and was about to thank him, but Tony shook his head and merely held out a piece of paper, saying, “Found the location of the Framework that Barnes was looking for in here.”

Adjusting his grip on Stevie, he took the piece of paper, just as Tony suddenly faded completely away. “Tony!” he began, looking around, but did not see the AI anymore.

Unfolding the paper, he saw that it was a crayon drawing of what looked to be a map depicting a region of the world. There was a blood red star in a particular spot on the map, indicating a marker of sorts. Scribbled next to the star was Tony's handwriting, stating: Framework Servers.

Committing the map to memory, he let the paper go and it too, faded away. He stared at the space it had occupied for a moment longer before lifting Stevie up to carry her as a fireman would. Walking over to the door, he pushed it open and went through...

Gasping as he snapped his eyes open, the sounds of gunfire and shouts echoing throughout the place blasted into his ears as he coughed and tried to get air into his lungs. He yanked the device off of his head, scrambling off of his slab as he heard Stevie forcefully cough. He caught her before she could fall from her slab. Taking the device off of her head, he barely heard her murmuring the denials as she too snapped her eyes open, and tried to fight free of his hold on her. He let go, watching her take a few stumbling steps forward.

“Stevie!” he shouted over the din, as she jammed her right palm to the side of her head, seemingly trying to will the headache she had away. “We have to go!”

Whether she heard him or not was completely unknown to him, as one minute, she was still swaying slightly with her uneven footsteps and the next, she ran. Shock only managed to take root and hold him for a split second before he sprinted after her. Despite her injuries, she was fast. He was pouring everything he could into running after her, but was not catching up and only kept a couple of paces behind her.

_The serum amplifies everything about the person. Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse._

He knew then, that rage had completely consumed her.

She completely passed Triplett without slowing down, almost bowling him over as the pilot had stopped firing out towards where there were a few HYDRA soldiers trying to pass the line of defense. It was her barely perceptible slowing, of getting ready to attack that Steve finally managed to catch up to her – but only just so much. Snatching her by the back of her torn SHIELD uniform, he managed to prevent her from plunging headlong into the throng of HYDRA soldiers being barely held back by the others of Strike Bravo. However, it was too late to stop both of their momentum that sent them careening towards the inevitable.

Curling himself around her as he held her tight, both of them hit the soldiers, knocking a line of them down. Steve gasped for breath. The force of their impact didn't do much to stop them from tumbling out of the hall and over the edge of the walkway; falling three floors down to the ground and into the heart of the HYDRA force.

~~~

“What the hell...” Bucky heard himself whispering in utter disbelief as a moment ago, he had been firing in short, controlled bursts with the high-powered rifle, drilling back as many of the HYDRA soldiers as possible, and the next, had seen both Rogers and Rogers' counterpart slam into the wall of black so fast and so forceful that it didn't even stop their momentum.

In that moment, he had also caught his counterpart's eyes, the mirrored expression of sheer bafflement as to what the two Rogers were doing. But that moment passed, and it was only because his childhood memories screamed 'You idiot!' towards Rogers that he stopped shooting, swept his metal arm up and applied its full power to knock the enemy soldiers back, grabbed the railing with his good arm, and vaulted over the walkway and down to the first floor.

Crashing feet first into two HYDRA soldiers, he stumbled forward onto solid ground and blindly fired off a few bursts to clear the area, just as Johnson had leapt down as well. She blasted a fairly decent sized radius of breathing room for the four of them, but he was already clearing more room away from Rogers, as he saw him uncurl from his fall, letting his counterpart go. Faster than he thought possible, considering just how blood-soaked her clothes were, and the fact that some spots looked too fresh, Rogers' counterpart suddenly leapt up and in for an overhead strike at a soldier next to him.

She was fast – faster than he had ever seen Rogers perform; kicking, punching, and throwing HYDRA soldiers all over the place. He continued to shoot, continued to make sure that they were at least carving a path towards the area they had entered, but all the while he was well aware of the shock that was slowly overtaking him. There was a viciousness he had never seen before in her, as if the shining beacon of hope that was Captain America was dimmed and tinged by red blood – as if Stephanie Rogers had become the monster that lived inside of him.

It was amplified when Rogers himself finally joined in the fray not a moment later.

No, the brutality in which Rogers and Rogers' counterpart fought was not amplified – Rogers was holding back, putting just enough power behind his attacks to knock out the soldiers, snapping their tesseract-powered weapons in half whenever he could. Rogers was reaching out towards her, trying to physically stop her from her rampage, from becoming the antithesis of Captain America. Something had happened in that Framework – something that affected her heart.

It was the one place he knew that Rogers was the most vulnerable whenever emotional upheaval overtook him in battle or on missions. Rogers almost always never fought with his heart and always with his mind on the mission. But there had been times during the war in which Bucky had remembered that Rogers' heart, his bleeding Good Samaritan heart, had taken over. Those times were almost always followed by hell in a hand basket – for both sides.

Ejecting the clip in his high-powered rifle, he slammed the butt of his rifle into the nearest soldier before slamming a new clip into the rifle and fired off a burst. He could not fully concern himself with Rogers and what was happening to Rogers' counterpart, as he let go of the rifle for a second, reaching forward and yanking a HYDRA soldier towards him with his metal arm. Raising said soldier up, in the nick of time, he used the soldier as a meat shield, the body vaporizing the instant the blue bolts struck it.

“Nomad, mines!” he heard his counterpart order over com, as a hollow but deep ringing sound from Johnson's abilities sent a wave of soldiers flying back.

Firing off another burst from his rifle with one hand, he clasped the trigger that was hooked onto his kevlar vest and flicked the safety cover up. Pressing the button, the first of the explosions far and away from where they currently was loud and large enough that it was both heard and felt over the din. The ground beneath him and the others shook ever so minutely, but it slowly started to become more unstable, more violent, and the explosions ever louder as the chain of mines he had strung along on his way back to the original checkpoint went off.

Shrapnel rained down from above, as walkways as the yells of the soldiers filled the air with the sound of metal being wrenched across metal. The walkways above them began to crumble and collapse from the falling debris. He stopped firing his rifle as he immediately dove and knocked both Rogers and Rogers' counterpart out of the way. The enormous piece of concrete that had broken off a section of a wall was blasted past his head – close enough that he thought he could feel an edge of it scrape across the top of his head.

Tumbling down, a more forceful ringing noise and strong blast of air above where he had landed knocked back several soldiers. Johnson cleared the perimeter for the moment, as he saw his counterpart, along with Triplett and Barton leap down from where they had been. Scrambling up before the HYDRA soldiers could begin to recover, he reached forward and yanked Rogers up by the back of his uniform. “Move, Steve!” he nearly shouted into Rogers' ears, shaking him slightly to make him more alert.

Johnson was a little more careful, but no less quick in helping Rogers' counterpart up, as a burst of rifle fire from his counterpart and Triplett, along with the quick work with the swords from Barton, cleared some more room. It seemed that whatever unbridled rage had overtaken Rogers' counterpart had also fled with her knockdown onto the ground, as he saw her shake her head ever so briefly as his counterpart reached her.

Bucky pulled his rifle forward again, ejected and loaded another clip and fired in concert with Triplett, clearing room as the ground rumbled again. The mines had made the entire place unstable. At his counterpart's order of, “Johnson, now!” he not only saw Johnson extend out a hand towards their exit, with a wall of black between them, but also another on the ground.

She blasted the wall of black with the full force of his powers. Standing this close to her, Bucky could feel his entire body, not only his bones, but every sinew of his muscles, his blood – everything inside of him shake. The only part of him that was not trembling was the vibranium arm. He felt like he was going to shake apart the longer she kept the barrage up with her single outstretched hand.

For a split second, he was startled at just how much power the Inhuman agent had within her, as she seemingly poured _more_ of her abilities into her attack. One hand, one arm, and she blew an entire wall of black, about thirty-rows deep of soldiers, up and away.

“Go!” his counterpart ordered, as soon as the unstable, man-made violent motion stopped. What didn't stop was the ground itself, as it rumbled and started to buckle.

None of them wasted time, as they all charged forward. While Rogers and Rogers' counterpart occasionally knocked out and away those stray soldiers who had survived the blast and mines, and the others occasionally fired off a burst of bullets, Bucky risked an extremely quick look back. The HYDRA soldiers were still coming in from behind them. Johnson was already creating more instability in the ground by directing her other hand and blasting a circle around her with as much force as she had put into pushing back the wall of black.

He refocused his attention forward and a few seconds later, Johnson flew by him, landing in the middle of the group. He could only assume that she had propelled herself towards them using her powers. He was not the only one to stumble as they finally cleared the building, with the loud hissing sound of a geyser, or a broken steam pipe from the geothermal plant accompanying the massive and sudden quake. While he knew that he, along with Rogers and Rogers' counterpart – even injured as she was – could outrun the rest of Bravo, they were not going to.

Bucky just hoped that the abandoned plant would not explode from the instability that they had deliberately caused before they reached the quinjet—

* * *

_Rogers! Get up Rogers!_

Steve blearily blinked as the voice of his old drill sergeant faded, replaced by the sounds of something crackling near him. It was the acrid smell of things burning, of the intense heat that he felt, and of the sudden pain that stabbed into him like a thousand needles that he finally was able to see. Well, as much as he could see with the thick amount of dust, debris, and smoke around him. Chunks of twisted metal, even bits of concrete and rebar surrounding him were on fire.

He tried to move, tried to get up, but couldn't hold back the groan that escaped his lips. Each attempt to move forward, to even crawl on his belly forward sent stars and black spots shooting through his eyes. It was agonizing to move, and even lifting his head off the muddy ground was an effort that left him breathless. But he had to move, had to continue forward, even though he could barely feel anything except the stabbing of thousands of blades on his back, on his side, his arms, even his legs. That was enough though, to tell him that he had not been paralyzed, could still feel every inch of his body after the geothermal plant had exploded.

“Get...up,” he tried to say to himself, to motivate his body to do as he willed and to push the pain aside.

He tried, he tried so hard to move not just his head, but to lift himself up, but it was too painful, too overwhelming that the black spots nearly eclipsed his entire vision. He could see the others, Triplett lying near him on his left, Barton, somewhere to his upper right, if what he saw a few inches away was what was left of one of the katanas that Barton had carried with him. He had to get up, had to help his teammates to safety – he could not remain here.

“Steve! Steve, can you hear me?”

He blinked again, trying to raise his head up as he thought he heard Bucky calling out to him, but it was not so as it was instead, Johnson, who had streaks of soot covering her face. She had knelt down next to him, and reached out. He still had to get up, and thus responded to her attempt by trying to move. The groan that involuntarily escaped his lips seemed to further agitate Johnson, as he heard her say, “No protruding bones, Sarge! Just a shit ton of shrapnel.”

“Not the end of the line, Steve,” Bucky's voice gruffly stated in his right ear a few moments later.

This time, Steve could not hold back, openly swearing as a wave of blinding agony shot through him, as he felt both Johnson and Bucky grab his arms and lifted him up. He could barely feel his arms being slung around their shoulders as they half hobbled, half ran him off to somewhere. He tried to move his legs, tried to keep pace with them, tried to ease their burden of carrying him, but their movements were suddenly arrested as he felt his left side sag.

“Go, Sarge! I got this!” he heard Johnson shout as one moment he felt himself leaning heavily against Bucky, the pressue of whatever shrapnel embedded into him on the side pressing in some more, sending a fresh wave of pain through him. The next, he felt himself being slung in rescue-carry manner across Bucky's shoulders.

The pain was unbearable, so much that he blacked out for a few moments. It was only the rhythmic pounding of boots on the ground, and the familiar distant sounds of a hollow ringing noise that he managed to open his eyes again. Each step that Bucky was taking, each jarring move pushed the shrapnel in further, but one thing was clear – he was being evacuated out of the battlefield.

As surreal as it was, as it was not usually him being evacuated but him doing the evacuation for other soldiers, that was abruptly stopped as the interior of the quinjet, and the echoes of Bucky's boots on the metal floor over took the rushing water noise ringing in his ears. His vision swam again, as he partially blacked out, feeling himself being swung from the rescue carry and placed across several jump seats. He heard Bucky leave, and tried to will the pain away, to open his eyes again.

He was somewhat successful as he blearily blinked again, and looked around, just as Johnson and Bucky appeared again, this time placing an unconscious Clint into a jump seat. It was only after the two had left that he finally noticed Clint's next door neighbor – Stevie. She was lying stretched across several jump seats. It was not the fact that she looked like she was still breathing, but the fact that there was an enormous piece of burnt metal shrapnel, nearly a quarter of the size of the vibranium shield that both of them had wielded, that was embedded within her.

“No...God,” he managed to breathe out, this time trying harder to get up, needing to check, needing to see that his assumption and vision about Stevie still breathing were true.

“Cap, stay there! Don't move!” Johnson's voice broke into his racing thoughts, sending the fog of pain away as he saw that Bucky and the Inhuman agent had brought in Bucky's counterpart. Triplett had been brought in somewhere during his attempt to get up.

“Hold them off, Quake, until I give the signal!” he heard Bucky order as he saw through hazy eyes, him walking past and into the cockpit.

A stream of curses, most of them in English, some of them in Chinese issued from Johnson's lips, as the hollow ringing sound of her powers filled the cargo bay. He could hear the quinjet's engines begin to wine as they powered up, and a moment later, he heard Bucky yell from the cockpit, “Ramp up!”

The mechanical wine of the ramp closing was a sweet sound, and even sweeter was the engines being pushed to maximum as Steve felt his stomach drop and flip-flop with the sensation of a quick VTOL out of the zone. Johnson pounded past him and into the cockpit. Steve could only assume that she was spooling the rotary cannon up, but that thought was dashed as he felt himself suddenly thrown to the ground.

Biting back a cry of pain, he could hear Johnson curse, as he saw Bucky fight with the controls of the quinjet. They had been hit, and from the spinning, flattening sensation he could feel, they were spinning laterally out of control. He tried to desperately keep his eyes open, tried to will himself to get up – if they were to crash, he needed to try to at least help strap down his counterpart so that she had a fighting chance to survive.

But the g-forces were too much for him to bear – pressing on his wounds, pressing against his skull, as black spots appeared in numerous blobs. He tried one last attempt to keep his eyes open, to try to claw his way up from the floor towards his counterpart, only for him to hit his head on the floor when the quinjet crashed.

* * *

The northern Canadian wilderness was as harsh and as unforgiving as Siberia, but that was to be expected, since the тайга biome stretched over this latitude. The winter training that the 107th had gone through at Camp McCoy back in early 1943 had nothing on the bitter cold and almost lifeless spread of land that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was only because Bucky had lived in – had survived – in this type of wasteland for the past seventy years that he knew where to look for signs, to find the necessary edibles that they needed. It was the same training, same survival of the fittest he remembered throwing all of the agents from the Red Room program he himself had trained, into: survive in the middle of the Siberian winter with only the clothes on their back and a combat knife.

At the present though, the quinjet's supplies had been adequately stocked through either stealing or 'borrowing' if one wanted to satisfy Rogers' discomfort in what exactly they had been doing to restock outside of Macau, supplies. Unfortunately, with the crash and subsequent eruption of flames that had engulfed a part of the quinjet before Johnson had quaked loose the burning pieces, throwing them far and away, most of their foodstuff supplies had been destroyed. That had necessitated him going out to forage for food.

Of the injured, Rogers' counterpart was the most critically injured. The enormous piece of shrapnel was still inside of her, and sepsis was either going to or had already begun to set it in. If they pulled it out now without any medical intervention or surgeons, she would bleed to death in a matter of minutes. Coupled with her previous wounds still not healing, it was only because Rogers was tethered to her through his giving blood to her, acting like a blood bank, that she hadn't died yet.

Rogers himself was also injured, with several smaller pieces of shrapnel peppered into him and was in the midst of recovering from a concussion. The shrapnel had been removed, but without enough thread, several of the wounds had to be bound by what they had left for gauze, and by strips of cloth ripped from their own clothes. He had thankfully woken up after the crash, and though Bucky was initially against it, Rogers had seen the condition that his own counterpart had been in and had volunteered to be a blood bank of sorts.

Barton and Triplett had also been wounded even further after they had crashed. Triplett had a bad concussion and broken arm. Though the bone had been painfully pushed back in and his arm bound tightly, Bucky knew that if the pilot did not get medical attention soon, he would lose that arm. Barton's concussion from the crash was less severe, but a few of his prior wounds from the Zephyr crash had reopened, mingling in with the shrapnel wounds he had received when the geothermal plant had blown up. Those, like Rogers' wounds, had been bound with whatever they had on hand.

Of the wounded, it was his counterpart who had escaped from the crash with only a mild concussion and dislocated shoulder – which had been duly reset as best as possible. However, his counterpart had numerous cuts and scrapes from the battle in the geothermal plant, brought on by falling debris. Still, his counterpart was the least wounded, and the least of Bucky's worries.

Only he and Johnson had escaped almost completely unscathed from both the battle and from the crash – owing most likely to the fact that both of them had been in the cockpit when they had crashed. It was now up to the two of them, his counterpart not included despite his protest, to find a way to survive until help could come. Back when everyone else except for Johnson had been knocked out, he had made the executive decision to send the distress beacon up. He knew that it would most likely draw what was left of the HYDRA force in the geothermal plant towards them – if any of them had survived – but he also hoped that perhaps the Canadian government would have some mercy upon them.

That was only if their signal was not being blocked or intercepted by HYDRA.

The only good piece of information to come from the crash was that their armament supply were in somewhat of a good shape – if one could count two clips for a single high-powered rifle, three cartridges of four bullets each for the sniper rifle, one chipped katana, and a single combat knife adequate. It would most likely be enough to fend off at least a few wolves or bears, but nothing in terms of HYDRA. Still, considering where they were and how remotely far they were from civilization, he considered fighting and killing the native fauna a little better than HYDRA at the moment.

“Jeez, this water tastes weird,” he heard Johnson mutter as he entered what remained of the broken quinjet. Structurally, it was still mostly intact, and thus, they had been using it as their shelter, rather than move towards the black spruce forests.

“PH levels are good, and there's no bacteria in it that can kill you, Daisy. Just drink it,” he heard his counterpart state.

It had been Triplett who had solved the primary issue of how they were going to survive without access to fresh water. The pilot had dictated to his counterpart and Johnson to pull out what remained of the quinjet's water reclamation system and convert it to a purifier. The bogs that surrounded the landscape contained water, but were full of bacteria and other microorganisms that could kill or sicken the injured and healthy. It was also then that Bucky had found out that besides being a pilot, Triplett had studied aerospace engineering in college, graduating first in his class before being recruited into SHIELD.

“No wolf?” Johnson asked, giving him a mild look as he placed the makeshift satchel of berries, nuts, and even some edible pine near the apex of the broken ramp.

“Not yet,” he answered, handing the half-meter of sphagnum moss he had managed to carve out from the ground and preserve, over to his counterpart. It was necessary to use the moss on not only Rogers' counterpart, but also the others, as the moss was absorptive and extremely acidic enough to prevent more microbial growth than was already present in their wounds.

He unsheathed the combat knife that he had carried with him on his brief excursion, laying it next to the line of weapons they had left. Initially, much to his annoyance, even his counterpart had insisted that he carry the high-powered rifle with him into the wilderness in his foraging. After he had succinctly explained to them what exactly all Red Room agents went though, no one had continued to argue the need for him to carry that rifle.

“Ah, too bad,” he heard Barton quip as the archer, along with Johnson and his counterpart moved towards Rogers and Rogers' counterpart. “I would've loved to see an actual wolf's head on a pike, just like what Frey did... except you know, not computer graphics generated.”

Bucky gave him a puzzled look, not quite understanding what exactly he was saying before taking up the rifle and kept watch while the others did what they could to try to save Rogers' counterpart's life. If there was only one skill set that Strike Bravo desperately needed at this moment, it was a doctor. All of them had been trained with varying skills in administering first aid, but none of them had the skills needed to yank out that shrapnel stuck inside of her, sew her up, and prevent her from bleeding to death. The sphagnum moss would help with the absorption of blood and prevention of more infections weakening her faster, but without proper medication or attention, it was clear that she was slowly dying.

Rogers' blood trickling into her in a makeshift transfusion was the only thing keeping her alive, and each time his counterpart or others attended to her, Bucky found it difficult to watch. He didn't know why it was so, as he had seen and witnessed countless of executions, killings, and even his counterpart digging into the LMD head of Coulson that seemed too life-like. Something about watching someone with a similar face to Rogers, clearly dying and trying to fight to cling to life made something deep within his chest ache. Seeing Rogers' forlorn look whenever he was awake made that ache feel worse.

He remembered from the memories and fragments that there were so many times he had come close to losing Rogers before and during the war.

Each time he had held with baited breath as their luck was pushed.

Each time panic quashed by adrenaline had been rushing through him.

Each time he had felt sweet relief as Rogers had made it through whatever the gauntlet had put out in front of him, safe and sound.

Each time the pressure he had felt in his heart, was eased as he saw the familiar small smile on Rogers' lips and he had answered with a cocky grin of his own.

Each time, he and Rogers had prevailed – until that particular snowy day in the Alps.

Was this to be their counterparts' Alps?

* * *

Steve usually was able to sleep, or at least doze off for a few hours of rest with noise in his surroundings. It was how he had learned to get at least some semblance of rest whenever others took watch during the war. Even his current role as the blood bank for Stevie, combined with his wounds that were not healing, should have made him exhausted. Yet he did not feel tired – or at least tired enough to tune out the murmurs that he heard coming from the end of the cargo bay.

Five days had passed since they had crashed and not once did they see any sign of anyone coming to rescue them. Perhaps the initial assumption James had had was right – perhaps HYDRA was jamming their signal. Or perhaps they were so remote, so far away from any radio tower that the signal could not be picked up. HYDRA forces had not even shown up in the five days since the crash, and the only visitor they had had was a moose coming within about a half-mile from the crash site. No one sought to kill it, as they did not have the gear or capacity to skin and eat the animal clean before it would begin to attract wolves and other carnivores.

He blinked several times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior as he realized he was leaning on something warm and somewhat soft. There was something soothing and cool wrapped around his back, easing the burning feeling he had from his infected wounds. Looking up, he realized that he was currently leaning against Bucky's chest, and that Bucky's metal arm was gently pressed across his back. He had somehow slumped over enough, dozed off enough to do so.

It was not something he did often, as it was usually Bucky who couldn't sleep while sitting up and more often than not, usually used some part of him as a pillow. He never minded being a pillow of sorts, as there was a slightly selfish and simple reason for him remaining as one – additional warmth. Bucky being a human blanket for him before and during the war – in addition to the ones that covered them in the colder months when they slept in foxholes during the war – made those freezing nights more bearable.

Looking up past Bucky's chest, he noticed that far from being asleep, Bucky was awake, and looking out towards the cargo ramp. He turned his gaze towards there and saw small movements coming from James and Johnson. He could see the outline of the high-powered rifle being tucked against Johnson's shoulder – in the hollow where the kickback would be absorbed the best. James was gesturing, pointing, and readjusting her hands along the rifle, and he realized that he was teaching her how to handle and shoot one.

He remembered that she had stated that she was only certified and trained to use pistols, not rifles. Considering how wounded the rest of the team was, Steve supposed that a crash course in handling a rifle was better than nothing. Johnson would still be able to use her powers, but with the bog surrounding them, her powers were more likely to loosen the bog and sink the entire quinjet than blast enemies away.

He flicked his eyes back up towards Bucky, wondering what he thought about the observation; the training that James was giving Johnson. Though he was still dismayed that Bucky was relying heavily on his memories as the Winter Soldier to get them through this, Steve knew that he could not argue for Bucky to stop. Winter training that had been given to them in the US Army back during the war had nothing compared to what they faced now. He supposed that in the seventy-plus years since, that that training had been modified and enhanced--

Bucky's eyes suddenly flicked down at him, and for a second, Steve saw a familiar warmth in them – the same warmth he had seen so many times before the war. He smiled, but that was quickly dashed as both of them heard the howl of wolves in the distance. The sound pieced the stillness of the night, and even before the first of the howls died, Steve was already sitting up. Bucky had stood up, and moved towards the open ramp, picking up the sniper rifle from the pile of what little weapons they had left. Both James and Johnson were already shifting and standing up as well, with James taking the rifle from Johnson.

Clint and Triplett had woken up with the noise, and as the howls started to increase in volume, Steve saw Clint reach over and take up the broken katana. Triplett had moved closer to Stevie, knowing that with his arm the way it was, he would only get in the way. He saw Bucky sight through the scope of the sniper rifle for a moment before pulling back, shaking his head slightly. “No fog vision through the scope,” he heard him say. “Pack of seven, maybe more, judging from the noise. They definitely smell the blood here.”

Without a fog-penetrating night vision scope, they were limited in options to taking down the wolves. Sure Steve knew that the super-soldier serum enhanced his vision, but it hadn't granted him complete and enhanced night vision – otherwise he'd be blind during the day. He was also quite sure that whatever Dr. Zola had done to Bucky all those years ago, he hadn't been granted complete night vision either. He couldn't help them, and as much as he hated it, he knew that the alternative was to let Stevie die. He couldn't do that either, and thus, he could only watch, wait, and hope that they had enough bullets to take down the wolves that hunted them.

The report of the first sniper rifle shot was loud enough to cause a brief ringing noise in Steve's ears, as it echoed throughout the cargo bay. He barely heard the whimper cry of a wolf being struck by the bullet before another shot rang out. Five rapid shots and one short burst of a rifle later, there was silence, but that was only because he dimly saw Bucky hold up a hand to silence the guns. The wolves were still howling, but Steve thought they sounded just a little farther away. Perhaps the gunfire did scare them off...

“Quinjet,” he heard James suddenly say, leaning forward ever so slightly. A few moments later, Steve could hear the familiar humming noise of the rotors in the distance. The wolves were still howling, but there was the strangest of sounds that punctured the howls – a barking noise.

“Pizza Dog?” he heard Clint exclaim in a surprising tone.

The barks were followed by the faint, almost indiscernible sounds of arrows falling as if they were a hailstorm. Whimpers and whines of several wolves were heard, and it was Clint who moved first, poking his head out of the wreckage, saying, “It's Strike Echo!”

The beating of rotors filled the air as the quinjet landed. From what he could see, Steve saw James slowly lower his rifle, before reaching out and placed a hand on the barrel of Bucky's sniper rifle, forcing the rifle down as well. Johnson had moved forward, with Clint shadowing her, but she didn't completely exit the ramp as a dog suddenly bounded up and leapt up towards Clint.

“Awww, Pizza Dog! It is you!” he heard the archer happily exclaim, dropping his katana and picking up the dog.

“Kate!” Johnson joyfully greeted at the same time.

Steve saw a young woman, most likely about the same age, or just a little older than Johnson enter the cargo bay after clasping arms with Johnson for a brief moment. Due to the darkness, he couldn't see enough details to fully describe her – other than she had dark hair and was just as tall as Johnson. She was carrying a quiver of arrows and had folded her composite bow closed. She moved with purpose and was most likely the commander of Strike Echo as he saw her nod towards James, saying, “Captain Barnes.” She did falter for a moment when she shifted her attention ever so slightly towards Bucky.

“0-8-4, Agent Bishop,” he heard James say, before gesturing further in towards where he, Stevie, and Triplett were, saying, “We got wounded who are in dire need of medical attention.”

“Then let's get them home, Captain.”

* * *

Keweenaw Rocket Range was the public name of the underground base that SHIELD's Intelligence Directorate had evacuated to, following his counterpart's briefing to Director Carter about what happened to the Zephyr. Above ground, it was a disused NASA rocket pad that used to send up small rockets that contained weather experiments, but had fallen out of favor and usage a few years ago in this reality. It had been the same in his and Rogers' reality, except that those years had been during the Cold War.

Bucky had wanted to follow the wheeled stretcher bearing Rogers to the OR, but had held himself back. He had willed, warred with the blended memories of himself, quashing both the Winter Soldier and the Barnes memories and need to make sure that Rogers was going to survive, going to live. He had to remind himself that though Rogers had been wounded, had not been healing fast due to his donation of blood, his wounds were not grave compared to Rogers' counterpart. _She_ was the one who was dying, whom his counterpart needed to go after, to be there and watch Campbell and the others attempt to save her. His counterpart needed to be there _for_ her.

And yet, his counterpart did not move from where he had stood since getting off of the quinjet. Triplett and Barton had both been walked by others to wherever the medical facilities had been set up in this new base, but his counterpart still had not moved. It was only Director Carter's sharp, “Captain Barnes, check yourself into medical,” that there was finally some sort of reaction from the statue that his counterpart seemed to have become upon arriving in safe haven.

“No, ma'am,” came the surprising answer, as Bucky caught a myriad of expressions, mostly surprise, appearing on Agent Kate Bishop, leader of Strike Echo, and the other team member of Echo – Agent Elena Rodriguez, along with Johnson, and a few of the personnel in the area. Even the dog – named Pizza Dog, according to Barton – who had strangely tagged along and was considered a part of Strike Echo had cocked his head slightly in the silence that followed.

He could only assume that this was the first time anyone had ever heard his counterpart publicly disagree or disobey an order from Carter. He suspected the reason as to why his counterpart did not want to be checked into medical, but if he was correct, then it was a rather stupid reason. However, he was not of the mind to go shake some sense into his counterpart – not after the fugue he briefly fallen into in the aftermath of the mission in Macau.

He saw Carter narrow her eyes ever so slightly at his counterpart, looking as if she wanted to repeat the order. She didn't get to, as the sounds of someone running into the underground hangar bay interrupted all of them. “We lost contact with Agent Matsumoto,” Carter's niece stated without preamble.

It didn't solve the question of why his counterpart refused to go to medical, even to just make sure that his reset shoulder was set properly, but it did prove to be a good distraction from whatever the hell his counterpart was doing. Carter had turned slightly towards her niece with that news and asked, “Have scans picked up on any radioactive isotopes from Simmons?”

“Unknown,” she answered. “We just got the distress call before it cut out. Mack is working the satellites and scanners.”

“Echo, Bravo, briefing room One,” Carter said, nodding as she returned her attention to the rest of them. “Sharon, show them the way. I'll be there in a few.”

“Ma'am,” Carter's niece said, curtly nodding.

“And Captain Barnes,” Carter said, before they could leave, “That's your only warning.”

“Understood, ma'am,” he heard his counterpart answer with absolutely no emotional inflection in his tone.

“What's going on, Sharon?” he heard Johnson ask, as Bucky saw her glance sideways towards her commander, eyes crinkling in concern before focusing her attention back on the younger Carter. The six of them were headed in the opposite direction that Carter had left, and the dog was still traveling with them. While Bucky did not mind dogs, he found it extremely strange that a Strike Team had a dog as a part of their team.

That was not the primary concern though, as he heard Carter say, “Agent Matsumoto was flying the last of the quinjets, carrying Fitz. I mean, it would have been standard protocol to set a remote unlock on the prison cells after we've all evacuated, but it's Fitz. The Director didn't want to leave him there for HYDRA to pick up. Simmons, bless her heart, didn't stop trying to work on a cure for Fitz even as we evacuated. She said she wanted to try something during the flight to here, and the Director gave her the go to do so, but she also gave her the order to inject herself with Iodine-131 if the worst should happen.”

“Which is?” Johnson asked.

“HYDRA shoots down the quinjet,” he heard his counterpart state.

Whatever had been afflicting him earlier, whatever that brief moment of rebellion was, it was gone as Bucky found himself frowning slightly. They were mirrors, more mirrors and reflections of each other than he wanted to admit. This new development with Fitz, Simmons, and the quinjet... this was his counterpart's distraction, his focus from what was happening to Rogers' counterpart. It was parallel to the focus he found in trying to stop the five abducted Winter Soldiers and HYDRA from invading his reality.

“They want Fitz back, so why not intercept him as he's being moved,” his counterpart continued to say.

“Precisely,” Carter agreed. “Losing contact with the quinjet has also confirmed Director Carter's theory that they tagged Fitz with a radioactive isotope or something as well.”

“But according to the briefing you gave us before we left for Anchorage, you just gave them what they needed to complete that Inhuman-Super Soldier formula!” Bishop protested, looking appalled. “Simmons is a xenobiologist – a scientist! She's not a trained agent--”

“She survived six months on an alien planet with nothing but her wits, Kate,” Carter argued. “She can survive whatever HYDRA will try to do to her.”

“Not if HYDRA does whatever they did to Fitz,” the archer stated.

“HYDRA didn't do anything to Fitz,” Bucky heard his counterpart quietly say as they entered the briefing room. “He chose to be like that. He finally chose his side.”

“What?” Johnson exclaimed, stopping just past the entrance, causing Bucky to prod her forward so that he could get through. She gave his counterpart a look of disbelief, saying, “Why the hell are you—no... what the hell is wrong with you, sir?!”

“He's right, Daisy,” Carter surprisingly spoke up, defending him as Bucky stood to the side, watching the others who had varying looks of dismay and inevitability in their expressions. “All of our protocols, encryption, cloaking, everything was secured. That included the Zephyr and Intel Base. At least they were secured until Bravo got captured and placed in the Framework. Then shit went to hell in a handbag, and here we are.”

She paused before opening her arms a little in a conciliatory gesture, saying, “Fitz was the only one who figured out how that 0-8-4 that got Ghost Rider here worked, how to secure our channels and encrypt them using those blackboxes, helped Stark rebuild Coulson all those years ago – everything engineering that we had since the Triskelion and since Stark's death, has come from Fitz and his team. He chose his side in the Framework. He chose to betray us, just like Ward. Isn't that what you've suspected all along, Captain?”

“Yeah,” he heard is counterpart answer, his tone defeated and tired. “Sabotage of his work in there wasn't enough. I thought getting him out was going to be enough--”

The door opened again, and Director Carter entered, carrying a laptop with her. Her entrance would have cut off further discussion on the true nature and magnitude of Agent Fitz's betrayal of SHIELD, but that was not the case as she took a seat at the table. Bucky and the others followed suit and a moment later, she said, “Scanners in St. Petersburg picked up a burst of gamma radiation specific for the modified Iodine-131 that Simmons had on her. It came from the direction of Yekateringburg.”

“Wait... that's the opposite direction of the flight vectors that most of us took to get here, Director,” Bishop stated.

“I initially suspected that when Bravo was sent to the Aral Sea to destroy the Framework there, they had gotten close, maybe a little too close for HYDRA's comfort,” Carter began. “The Aral Sea facility may not have been the primary facility, but it was probably their closest secondary hub to the main servers. It would explain why Captain, you and your team were moved to the United States – on the complete opposite side of the world, and why the Zephyr and her crew were placed in Whitehorse. It would also explain why Black Widow was in Macau, observing Inhumans and gathering intelligence on their abilities. She would have easily reported back to somewhere within the region, and make it easier for whatever Inhuman-Super Soldier formula algorithm they're using to be modified.”

She turned the laptop screen around, showing a map of the world to them, saying, “It stands based on what happened in the past few weeks, and the flight path that I had Matsumoto take the quinjet on, that the Framework servers are somewhere here.”

She tapped a couple of buttons, bringing up a sketch that Bucky found familiar in terms of how it was drawn. “Before Captain Rogers was admitted into the OR, he told me that Stark had shown him a map of where the servers were – from the Framework's version of Robin.”

The map was brought up again, as she continued to say, “I have reason to believe that the information is true, and that the AI was not being manipulated. Before Simmons undertook her mission, she began running the reality frequency scans that differentiate you, Sergeant, and you, Captain Barnes. The results have not yet returned in full, but the preliminary ones look promising and point to the same region.”

Bucky mentally shook his head. It should've been obvious that HYDRA would have left the device that had transported him and Rogers to this reality in the silo. It was an anchor point, and where real-time data gathered from different realities could be fed into the Framework with ease. However, that was not his primary concern, as it was the garrisons that he remembered dotting throughout the wasteland that would be the most fortified. No one ever discovered the silo in their reality during the Cold War because they were all killed on approach – by HYDRA and Soviet marksmen and their powerful weaponry. And he was sure that with what this reality's HYDRA stole, they also stole those weapons.

_I'm with you, until the end of the line._

“The silo will be left unguarded,” he began, catching all of their attention. He pushed away the discomfort he felt from their inquisitive eyes on him. To get home, to do what he knew Rogers would want him to do – protect their Earth – from HYDRA resurgence, he had to dive. He had to swim deeply into his memories, hold his breath, and hope that he survived.

This was the way home; the only way he and Rogers could go home – to embrace what he had become, what he always had been.

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partially inspired by the Captain America comic one-shots: 'Prisoners of Duty', and 'A Brother In Arms'. Both one-shots can be found in the 'Captain America: Theater of War' collection (ISBN: 978-0-7851-9601-3).


	16. Memory: возвращение на родину

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**возвращение на родину** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: November 5_ _th_ _, no additional fragments_

_Time: Night, no additional fragments_

_Location: SSR Headquarters, no additional fragments_

 

If he closed his eyes and muffled his ears enough, he could sometimes imagine that he was home, and that the noise was from his sisters chatting gaily about their day. Sometimes Mother would join in as well, but most of the time, she would be at the stove, cooking up a scrumptious meal. However, that moment would never last more than a few seconds as the sounds of the SSR Headquarters always sent him back to reality. It was in those times, where the murmurs and noises of people walking everywhere, things getting fixed or created, the ringing of telephones, or even the crunching noise of the Enigma machine being decoded, made him open his eyes to see his brief reverie dissolve away.

Bucky missed his mother and sisters, missed New York in general, but he never missed _home_.

At this very moment though, he was sitting in the corner of what most of the NCOs had nicknamed 'the cage', cleaning not only his sniper rifle, but other rifles. Most of the personnel didn't want to spend their days off cleaning the weapons, and a rota had been drawn up to do so, but he liked doing such a task. Of course there were plenty of other things he could have been engaging in on his days off, but he liked it here.

Not only was it quiet, it afforded him a lot of luxury in listening into idle conversations. More than once, he had picked up on rumors, on observations of interaction between personnel, and best of all, sitting in 'the cage' gave him a wide view of the main room. One of the best kept secrets of 'the cage' was it also gave him a view of the halls that led down to the laboratories where Howard and his team were always creating new gadgets. Most people didn't use the hall, since bothering the team usually resulted in one or more of the engineers complaining to the brass about unnecessary distractions. Thus the halls was sometimes used by personnel who wanted just a brief moment of privacy to engage in some moments of affection.

Bucky was sure he wasn't the only one who watched those using the hall as a semi-private place – some of the people were more openly affectionate and passionate than others – but at the moment, there was no one in the halls. Jones sometimes joined him in the cleaning of the rifles and pistols, but tonight, most of the personnel were above. It was apparently Guy Fawkes Night, and most of the British were off celebrating it by drinking instead of lighting bonfires. They had also dragged most of their American and French allies into the festivities. A few level-headed ones remained though – someone had to keep working, since there was still the primary HYDRA base and a few smaller ones that recently cropped up that they needed to destroy.

Dr. Zola still had not been captured yet, and no one knew where he was. Schmidt was also on the loose, though Bucky had heard some rumors of Schmidt being sighted somewhere in the Alps. That had not been confirmed yet, and with winter settling in soon, going anywhere near the Alps at the moment was going to be incredibly tricky, even for the Howling Commandos. They ate impossible for breakfast, but he knew that they were not invincible. Sooner or later, their luck was going to run out.

Shaking his head slightly, he tried to brush the thoughts away as placed the barrel of the disassembled pistol down and picked up another one and began to clean it. He heard the footsteps and murmurs of voices coming down the halls of the laboratories and smiled to himself. He had seen both Steve and Peggy go down the halls about an hour earlier, and it seemed that neither had seen him sitting in 'the cage'. Clearly the two had business to discuss with Howard, but it seemed that that business was done, judging by how slow their footsteps were on the floor. They definitely were taking their time returning to the main area.

Peeking up from his cleaning, he didn't see Steve or Peggy, but he did hear Peggy softly murmur, “Not here, Steve. It's a little too open.”

“There's no one here, Peggy,” he heard Steve softly answer, and had to bite on his knuckles to keep from openly laughing. How Steve missed seeing him in 'the cage' when he and Peggy had descended from above ground to the bunker proper was hilariously amazing. He hadn't even situated himself deep within 'the cage', buried proverbially up to his shoulders in firearms and cleaning materials.

There was a sigh before he heard Peggy say, “Sometimes, you really don't pay attention to your surroundings, do you Steve. Isn't that right, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky laughed, this time not bothering to contain himself as Peggy had stated that last question a little louder, and clearly directed at him. Footsteps echoed down the hall and a moment later, he saw Steve emerge, looking a little affronted. “How long have you been sitting there?” Steve asked.

He shrugged and merely gestured towards the open saying, “Best view of the house.”

Peggy emerged, shaking her head slightly in exasperation, saying, “Only for a voyeur like you, Sergeant.”

It was interesting to see Steve's face turn a few shades of red in embarrassment before an indignant expression finally ended it. Bucky couldn't help but widely smile in return, just as Peggy asked, “I'm surprised though, that you're not upstairs, drinking with the others. It would be much more productive to collect rumors and the like from looser tongues.”

“Wanted some peace and quiet,” he answered, amused at Steve's ever-changing reaction.

Not that he minded that Peggy was spilling some of the well-kept secrets he had done while at headquarters; she was the only person he spoke to with regards to the many rumors he heard. She was more entrenched and in the know of the 'politics' behind the SSR, and thus would know what to do with the information he picked up. It was only fair that Steve now knew a little what he did when not engaged in any other tasks at headquarters. It also alleviated the possibility of Steve's worry (and potential rumor that had started only very recently) that he, Bucky, was charming away his best friend's girl.

“Care to join us, Sergeant Barnes?” Peggy unexpectedly asked after a moment.

“Drinking?” he asked, holding his tongue on the other thought that had immediately sprung into his thoughts with regards to the question. Steve had been teased enough for tonight, and Bucky didn't have the heart to tease him any further, especially not when Peggy was present.

“Not quite,” she answered, walking over to an empty desk and took several sheets of blank paper and three fountain pens. “A tradition that my family used to do during the fifth. A bonfire variety, but doable with a simple campfire.”

Intrigued, he set the barrel he had been cleaning down and said, “All right. Give me a few minutes to put the rest of these away.” Wiping his hands down on another cloth as best as possible, he placed the rifles that had been cleaned on one side of the racks, and the others that had not been cleaned yet on the other. For the pistol he had been cleaning, he set that to the side, and neatly folded the cloths before stacking them and the other cleaning materials to one side of the table.

Emerging from 'the cage', he locked the door behind him. Peggy took the lead in making their way up the stairs, but as Bucky followed the two, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Home might have been in Brooklyn, but he knew that for him, _home_ was wherever Steve was...and when Peggy would finally marry Steve, where those two were.

They were his reason to come home, no matter what happened.

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**возвращение** _ _**на** _ _**родину** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	17. один (One)

 

**Chapter 9: один (One)**

 

She had died once already.

For a few seconds, Steve had heard the flat tone of the monitor that tracked her heartbeat and oxygen levels before the application of several compressions on her chest brought her back to life. Campbell and the only other surgeon that Intel Base had, were working furiously to sew Stevie up before her blood pressure could drop again. At least four assistants were standing by them, with two more bringing the necessary equipment needed to help the surgeons.

The nurse attending to him had not allowed him to stand by Stevie's side, even though he had already stripped his blood-stained uniform away and was wearing a medical gown. Instead, he had been ordered to sit on the second OR table, with a more robust and clean tube linking his blood to Stevie, stuck in his left arm. While those around Stevie's table worked, the nurse had slowly tended to his wounds, occasionally keeping an eye on what was happening on the other OR table and on his blood pressure levels.

Steve was sure that he was not in danger of dying, but he was starting to feel quite woozy and dizzy. It was all due to the rush of blood going away from him and into her once the shrapnel had been pulled out of her. Said piece of twisted, burnt metal was sitting on a tray on a separate table next to her OR table, and it had been larger than what he and the others had visibly seen. Three quarters of the nearly A4-sized shrapnel had been lodged inside of her, and it chilled Steve to know just how close she had been to being bisected by the shrapnel.

The combination of her own super-soldier body and his serum-enhanced blood had made it so that her organs, blood cells, veins, arteries, stomach, intestines – everything inside of her in that area of trauma had tried to regenerate. Her body had almost fused the shrapnel to her, adopting it as part of a new piece that the body was to grow and heal around – all the while the shrapnel had begun to infect her blood. The surgeons had to recut her body, to cut the infection and cancerous growth inside of her out. They couldn't give her anesthesia, not with just how bad in shape she was. Morphine was not an option either, due to the serum's ability to burn through it like it was nothing.

He remembered being injured by shrapnel or a opportunistic bullet more than once during the war, and had to live with the pain of the wound healing, or the shrapnel being cut out. At the moment, he wanted to do something, to do something more than being a blood bank for her. He wanted to hold her hand, to tell her even if she couldn't hear him, that everything was going to be okay – that she had to fight to live, because it was not yet the end of the line for her. But he held himself back – he had already spoken those same words to her unconscious body, encouraged her to fight to live.

All he could do now, was hope, wait, and pray that with medical intervention, she would survive.

* * *

_Hours later..._

 

“Sir,” Bucky heard Johnson say, breaking the silence in the operations planning room. He glanced up from his console to see her looking across the circular table, having paused in her typing on her laptop. “You said you wanted to know when she was out of the OR. Lincoln just sent me a note. Room 18 Alpha. She's on a ventilator.”

“Thank you, Daisy,” he heard his counterpart say in a succinct tone, still staring down at the various electronic documents and data that was in front of his console, with his eyes moving back and forth over the screen.

He glanced back towards Johnson, who was giving her commander an expectant look, rather than return to the databases that she was trying to access. Other agents helping with the analysis were trying to not show their interest in the development, but were failing quite miserably. Their furtive glances towards his counterpart were quite obvious, though he couldn't help but wonder why some of them were giving _him_ questioning looks. One didn't have to listen to the scuttlebutt to know that his counterpart was behaving erratically and not his usual self – at least not since they had landed in the new base.

Bucky didn't know if his counterpart had a 'normal self', as he was definitely not familiar or even friendly enough with him to grasp how he behaved while off duty. All he knew of his counterpart were through the missions they had undertaken, and those missions required his counterpart to be a complete chameleon – incredibly adaptable to any kind situation. He knew that, along with the underlying subject matter – Rogers' counterpart – whom had driven his counterpart to complete the missions, adaptability and keeping one's most personal thoughts and feelings contained was the key to survival.

The thought echoed a sentiment that he remembered Agent Carter mentioning something along the lines of it to him, before the Howling Commandos had undertaken that mission in the Alps. He had to give credit to Agent Carter though – she had been incredibly astute and understood what had motivated him to do what he did during the war, and well before it. Here, in this reality, it sat like still reflection, even if the surface dynamics were different.

He only had one data point for the 'erratic' behavior of his counterpart: the refusal of Director Carter's order to check into medical. He still thought it was a stupid reason to not do so, but it made sense in the situational context. Johnson did not have an objective view of their missions, at least not yet. Despite all of them having varying degrees of emotional compromise that drove them through the past few days, his counterpart had been able to provide an objective report of what happened, the mistakes made, and the somewhat corrective actions taken.

After Bucky had provided the bare bones data of what potentially they could face at the silo and its heavy perimeter, the analysis had begun. They could not rely too much on the memories of another reality, of another world, and thus began tasking hacked satellites to spy on the region. There would be other weaponry besides the tesseract weapons, the ones that HYDRA and the Soviets used in the perimeter defense, and others.

Someone was bound to notice a large amount of weaponry, supplies, people, and the like being moved across borders or within them. HYDRA had observed his reality for a while and must have known that even as vulnerable as it was without the Avengers, there were still other countries willing to defend and stop them. A few people, like both Director Carter and her niece, along with his counterpart who still had some influence within the military and other agencies had begun putting discreet pressure on their contacts. Nothing had been mentioned about potentially contacting Jiaying and her Inhuman group, but he didn't think it would ever happen anyways. SHIELD had completely washed their hands of them.

It was a hurry up and wait situation, but one that he knew that Director Carter had to be careful about. They could send what was left of all strike teams in, but he suspected that she was waiting, hoping, and praying that Rogers' counterpart would survive. They were all waiting and watching – Rogers' counterpart was their hope, their shining beacon, their rallying point. It was why Carter had authorized the rescue mission, why she had not written the destruction of the Zephyr or its crew off yet. It was why, despite stating that she could send no other team to rescue Bravo, if Bravo fell, that she had sent the exhausted Strike Echo to Anchorage.

Echo had waited, received word about something happening in Whitehorse, and had combed the wasteland, visually searching through a signal jammer that HYDRA had deployed – finally finding Bravo after five days. Every SHIELD personnel in the base was hoping that the rescue of Stephanie Rogers was not for naught, but Bucky knew better than to place stock in hope. Only time would tell if the serum-enhanced blood within Rogers and transfused into Rogers' counterpart was enough to keep her alive.

He knew that once, long ago, he would have been acutely feeling a similar sentiment, especially since he remembered sitting by Rogers' bedside whenever Rogers fell ill and could not go to school, work, or even come out and play. That was hope, that was the past, and that was what he wasn't now. He was a realist, but even as the monster within him tried to squash every ounce of emotion from him, he still felt an echo of worried waiting – of fear and hope that perhaps--

“Uh, you're not going, sir?” Johnson's question caused his momentary thoughts to dissolve as he glanced over to see her giving his counterpart a questioning look.

“Why should I?” his counterpart answered, not even lifting his eyes up from the screen once thus far.

He caught Johnson's appalled glance over at him, eyes silently asking that he should do something about it. While he knew that he would have never gotten involved in whatever the hell this was, he was getting a little more than annoyed at his counterpart's behavior. It was professional, it was straight forward, and it was cold. With that thought, he now understood why the whispered rumors going around were calling his counterpart's behavior 'erratic'. It wasn't erratic, it was uncaring – the monster that lived in both of them had completely taken over his counterpart.

What they had briefly discussed during that day in the recovery room, the mutual dislike, the lack of reassurances to each other that they could control the monster that lived within themselves, had come to head. They were not friends, they were only allies through circumstance, and if either of them had had their way, they would've killed each other – smashed the mirror that told them who they really were. It was why he knew he was able to do this with no remorse and absolutely no fear of retaliation from his counterpart.

That monster that lived within both of them? It was his alone to bear, his alone to control, and his alone to live with. His counterpart had not broken while in HYDRA's grasp, had not fallen both figuratively and literally, and had not lost his way. His counterpart had chosen, just like before in the Framework, to be a monster when it was not needed here.

Bucky stood up and in three quick steps, he reached and grabbed his counterpart by the scruff of his uniform's collar with his metal hand, and hauled him out of his seat. Five more steps brought him to the entrance to the ops planning room, as he yanked open the door and simply threw him out. He slammed the door close just as he saw him stumble on the floor, catching himself before he could fall. He considered bracing the door with his hand for a moment, but decided against it.

If Bucky's action was not enough to jog his counterpart to stop being a jerk, well then this reality's James Barnes didn't deserve to see Stephanie Rogers survive.

~~~

The dream was a little surreal, and while a part of him knew that it was not real, another part of him wondered if it was because of his own blood loss and excruciatingly slow healing of his wounds that was causing it. Whatever it was, he was thankfully catapulted out of the strange Alice-in-Wonderland tea party when he heard footsteps outside of the door to the room he and Stevie were recovering in. The gait was a familiar one, but the shoes that carried the gait and man into the room was not who he initially thought it was.

He didn't know why he kept his eyes closed, pretending he was asleep as he heard James quietly enter, but he supposed it was for the better. He needed to rest anyways, the bone-dead fatigue finally catching up to him, replacing the wooziness that had encompassed his blood loss. He listened, letting the faint noise that James was causing with his movement lull him to sleep.

He was at the edge between waking and sleeping when he thought he heard James softly say from the other side of the room, “I'm sorry, Stevie.”

Steve knew better than to eavesdrop. Though try as he might, and even as almost indiscernible as James had tried to make his words, careful not to disturb him, all thoughts of attempting to sleep were wiped away. He wished that there was at least a dividing curtain of sorts between his bed and where Stevie was laying – it would have at least made him feel a little better in what he was doing. Or earplugs. He would have accepted earplugs as an alternative.

“I'm sorry for being a coward, for not saying the words you wanted to hear,” came the whispered murmur. “To tell the truth, I was scared, Stevie. You know me...I had put up so many fronts, so many faces, so many lies that I started to believe it all. And then...”

Steve heard him pause for a moment, before saying in an even softer, quieter tone, “Please live, Stevie... please... I can't do this alone. Caroline needs you... she needs her mother... and I... I need you as well.”

There was another pause before he heard James bitterly laugh, softly saying, “Did you know... did you know that my counterpart threw me out of the ops room just now, Stevie? For all that he's a broken mirror of me... he's more perceptive than I give him credit for. It's refreshing, Stevie, to be working with him, even though we can't stand each other.”

“I love you, Stevie. Please...wake up--” Whatever else James was going to say was silenced as Steve abruptly heard him stand up, the stool clattering slightly with the force of his movement. He heard him whisper in exclamation, “What the hell?”

Steve snapped open his eyes, just as James walked by him, briefly glancing over at him before he stuck out a hand, waving it to tell him to stand down. His eyes followed him, and even though he was extremely tired, he forced himself sit up. The blinds to the windows that looked into the room were pulled down to shade the light from the hall, but there were still some slits of light coming through. Rather than the yellow-white light that was streaming through, the lights had turned red.

~~~

“So no joy on whatever the hell all of these other bling things mean, Sarge?”

что?

Bucky gave Johnson an expectant look, trying to be patient with the fact that she knew that he had no idea what the third and final drawing within the manila folder that Jiaying had left for them, meant. The first was a crayon drawing that represented him and the silver arm, along with quite a number of notes that the Inhuman leader had scribbled with regards to Robin's spoken prophecies. The second was the crude drawing of the geothermal plant just outside of Whitehorse. The third was of a gold gauntlet of sorts with six different colored stones.

Each stone had a motif of sorts associated with it, and the only one that he and Johnson had recognized was the tesseract motif. When Rogers had taken a look at the drawing before they had left Macau, Bucky had only seen his jaw tighten for a moment before he too had shaken his head. He suspected that Rogers may have known a little more than the rest of them, especially when he remembered Rogers mentioning something about a yellow stone in conjunction with the tesseract back in the Framework. But he didn't bother him about it, since they had had bigger things to worry about than jeweled stones.

Johnson slipped into the seat next to him, wiping away the crayon drawing that had been scanned into the databases, with a swift application of her hand on the screen. She turned to him and stuck out a hand, saying, “I just wanted to say thanks. For what you did to my CO earlier. For what you did while we were stuck in the wilderness. For everything, and for teaching me to survive. I don't know all the details of what happened in your reality, but I don't think you've been thanked enough. So, thank you, Sarge, for your service.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a slightly doubtful look. It was not something he thought he should be thanked for, as she was right: she had no idea as to how many atrocities he had committed – both during the war and as the Winter Soldier. Killing people was something he did not believe that he should be thanked for, even if it was for a perceived justice or a 'right' side in a war. “I'm not shaking your hand, Agent Johnson,” he stated, turning back to his work. He could feel her disheartened look on him, and mentally sighed. “What I do, what I've done, Johnson,” he said in a quieter tone, “should never be celebrated. I am not someone--”

He didn't get to say anything further as the room suddenly plunged into momentary darkness that was quickly remedied by red emergency lights coming on. There were no alarms, however, that followed the sudden blackout, but Bucky was already rising from where he was sitting, headed straight to the door as he heard the distinct heavy clicking noise that indicated locks or something was being applied to the door. Several of the other SHIELD personnel in the room had risen as well, wondering what the hell happened.

Reaching the door, he pulled on the handle, but as he suspected, the door didn't give. “Shit,” he heard Barton state, and glanced back to see both him and Bishop approach, while Johnson was standing near a wall, her hand outstretched. She was generating a low level pulse of her powers, most likely trying to sense, if she could, what was happening. He could hear some of the other personnel try com systems, but it seemed that the frequencies were either all dead or being jammed.

He took a step back and while it wasn't the best thing to do to a secured door, it was better than just standing around. Drawing back his arm, he punched his metal fist squarely just above the handle. There was not even a sizeable dent made, and only caused the handle to fall off. Considering how much power he had put behind that punch, it was going to take him too long to bash down the reinforced door. He would not only be exhausted, but also possibly strain the metal-flesh connections in his shoulder.

“Need to put a little more elbow grease in it, Sarge,” came the rather irritating quip from Barton.

He did not need that at the moment and settled for glaring at the archer as both Bishop and Johnson exasperatedly said, “Clint...”

“Whoa, hey man, sorry,” Barton apologized, holding his hands up, taking a step back. “Guess we didn't have the same kind of relationship I had... have with Bucky here.”

“I barely even knew you,” he answered, nearly giving in to shaking his head at the archer as he briefly returning his attention to the door, before looking back at Barton. “First and only time Steve mentioned you, and that I met you was at the Berlin Airport. So no, we _didn't_ have a relationship, much less were even remotely 'friends'. You were Steve's friend, an ally, a former Avenger and SHIELD agent. So unless you have a better way out, shut up.”

“Vents,” Barton said, showing no indication that he took offense to the rather rude statement that Bucky had made. Instead the archer was pointing up to the rather tiny vents that lined the ceiling before looking over towards Johnson. Even Bishop was giving her a rather mild look.

“Oh hell no,” she answered, shaking her head slightly as she put her arm down and the slight ringing noise that had felt like a background hum stopped. “I'm barely able to squeeze into one and you want me to crawl through it? What if I get stuck? What if--”

Johnson never got to finish her protest as a sudden _pop_ filled the air. One moment a few chairs near the circular table were idly spinning and winding down in movement due to their occupants no longer sitting in them, the next, a few of those chairs had been blasted across the room. Bucky caught one of those chairs with his metal hand before it to fly into the faces of Bishop and Barton. They all saw the Inhuman named Gordon teleport into the room, carrying two others with him. One of them was Jiaying, and the other was Director Carter.

“Stand down!” Carter immediately ordered, just as Bucky drew his arm partially back to throw the chair at the two Inhumans. “Stand down, that's an order! They're here to negotiate.”

“What the hell?!” both Johnson and Barton exclaimed at the same time, with Johnson unwilling to lower her outstretched hands. The air in front of her was pulsating ever so slightly.

“Stand down,” Carter repeated, giving the two agents a hard look before that same look was flicked over to him. “Stand down, Sergeant Barnes. Now.”

Bucky wanted to disobey that order – after what they had witnessed and had been through, every muscle, every fibre of his being screamed to take action, to get Carter to safety. He knew that she was not Rogers' girl here, but the sense of wanting to keep her safe, for Rogers' sake, for all of SHIELD's sake was driving him to do something about the two threats standing right next to her. If he threw the chair at Gordon, the Inhuman would just teleport out of harm's way, but would he get to Carter before the Inhuman could reappear? He didn't know--

“Barnes!” Carter's forceful command snapped him out of his racing thoughts as he blinked and saw that Johnson had lowered her hands. To his dismay, Carter had placed herself in between Jiaying and Gordon, right in front of the trajectory of the chair, if he was to throw it right now.

“Ma'am,” he said after a moment, swallowing and taking a deep breath as he felt the biting edge of the monster within him begin to bleed out and away. He slowly lowered the chair, placing it in an upright position. Taking a step back, he raised his hands slightly to indicate that he was not going to take any hostile action.

“Kate, scan Jiaying and I into the holograph com system and project our images to every room on the base,” Carter stated as she gestured for the Inhuman leader to step up to a part of the table and dragged to chairs over. “I want every personnel to witness this, if this is to be an alliance in the making.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Bishop answered, going to the console she had been working at and typed a few things.

“Ma'am,” Barton began before Johnson could get a word in. “I think I speak for everyone who was at Macau. Do not do this. They've already deceived us twice--”

“And for both times,” Jiaying interrupted him, as a purplish-light panned over both her and Carter, “I and my people humbly apologize for what we had done.”

~~~

“... my people humbly apologize for what we had done.”

Steve saw James pause in his second attempt to strike the spare stool in the room near the handle of the door as a sudden holographic projection appeared in the area between his bed and the door. The stool clattered to the ground as he saw James turn to face the projection that showed both Peggy and Jiaying sitting in chairs facing each other.

“No,” he heard James began.

“All SHIELD personnel, stand down,” Peggy immediately ordered before James could pick the stool back up. “I am not under duress, and all personnel in the ops room are not injured. Jiaying and her associate, Gordon, are here to negotiate, and given the circumstances we face at the moment, I have agreed to do so.”

He looked up, catching James' eyes as he saw him step forward and around the holographic projection, viewing it from the side. “She's smart to only travel with the one Inhuman who can get her in and out,” he heard him say, returning his attention to the holographic projection. “But how the hell did she know to come here?”

“The terms I like to put forth--” Jiaying began.

“I apologize for interrupting you, Jiaying,” Peggy said, not looking apologetic at all.

Steve could see that she was livid but still calm enough to listen to the other side. He remembered seeing her angry once, and it was not in the jealous kind of way that she had displayed on that day he had accidentally kissed Lorraine. No, the depths of her anger could not hold a candle to that. Back then, her lips had thinned quite considerably, and her teeth had been clenched quite tightly in a strained smile. She had held herself in a poised manner, but there had been a stiffness to her movements, as if she had wished her arms and hands were blades to be chopped at the person who had garnered her ire.

Said person, a visiting Senator on the War Committee, had been oblivious until he had realized that almost every person in that briefing room had been silently glaring at him. Surprisingly, it had been Colonel Philips who had demanded that the Senator apologize to Peggy. The Senator had done so, even though Steve remembered seeing some confusion swimming in his eyes – as if he did not understand how or why he had offended Peggy. Peggy had accepted the apology with grace, and the matter had been dropped.

“Due to your recent actions, I must ask to alleviate my agents' concerns, how did you find us?” she continued.

“One of my people is what you call...a telepath,” Jiaying stated after a moment, composing herself. It seemed that she was not used to being interrupted at all, especially by non-Inhumans, judging by the way she had bristled with Peggy's interruption. “She can read minds and implant a part of her abilities in targets of my choosing.” Steve saw her gesture to someone else in the room, saying, “Your agent here, the one named Clint Barton, was to be the only survivor of your second attempt at negotiation.”

“You fucking harpy--” Clint's furious shout was faintly heard over the holographic sounds being projected. Someone silenced him though, allowing Jiaying to continue.

“Thus, she was able to trace the location, see the location and structural layout of this facility, provided through Agent Barton's eyes,” Jiaying said, clasping her hands together and resting them on her lap. “As a sign of goodwill, I have already ordered Taylor to break the connection.”

“I don't feel any fucking different, you fucking hag--”

“Let's say I believe you, Jiaying,” Peggy interrupted, as Steve saw her glance over, silently asking whoever had initially silenced Clint to silence him again. “What are your terms for this negotiation?”

“Due to what we have learned from Agent Barton, we feel that this may be our best chance to strike at HYDRA, to finally rid ourselves of the pestilence that seeks to destroy us. We wish to provide assistance in destroying the silo you target.”

“And should we prevail?” Peggy asked. “What then?”

“We part ways,” Jiaying answered. “We wish to live without the harassment and exploitation that we have endured for all of these years, Director.”

“May I remind you that it was because of your people that HYDRA began--”

“And may I remind _you_ , Director,” the Inhuman leader cut in, “that the only reason SHIELD still stands is because we have let our people go with SHIELD. We have not restricted or called them back, or held them to allegiances. We let them choose their fates.”

“And how many of those 'fates' were determined by Robin?” Peggy asked, her words sharp, and her expression cold. “How many people did you and your people kill; their fates determined by a girl with supposed prophetic powers? How many times did you try to change fate? Change the future from whatever she has drawn?”

She paused for a moment, but before Jiaying could answer, she continued, saying, “You had other choices, Jiaying. You did not have to kill five SHIELD agents that day. You could have taken a different path.”

“And yet, here you are, using the drawings that I had provided, to plan an attack on HYDRA,” Jiaying simply answered. “It was only because of Robin that your SHIELD agents were spared twice when they should have been killed. She saw the arrival of that man with the silver arm behind you, and she saw where the battle to determine the fate of this world would take place.”

“Two worlds, Jiaying,” Peggy said after a moment's pause, adopting the same stance that the Inhuman leader had done. “This one, and the one where two travelers, one of them being Sergeant Barnes who stands behind me, have come from. HYDRA has found a way to cross into the other one, and from what I was told, there are Inhumans there as well, except that they live in peace. They are not bothered and are not hunted. Robin's prophecies may have pointed to where the battle would take place, but I suspect that she never did leave a final prophecy as to who the victor will be. Are you willing to commit all of your people to this offensive? All for one prophecy?”

Jiaying was silence for a few long moments, giving away nothing of what she felt on her face. Finally, she said, “How can I believe a word you said, Director Carter? Another world where we are not being persecuted? It is impossible to believe.”

“Then I ask you of the same,” Peggy answered. “How can I believe that you have come here with the intentions as you have stated? How can I believe that your offering of an alliance is true?”

It seemed that negotiations had come to an impasse as Steve watched the two, curious and fascinated by the verbal jousting he was witnessing. Peggy always had a sharp wit and intellect that he felt surpassed his own, and was not one to mince words. But watching her hold her ground and even gain a little of it against a dangerous woman... well, he didn't have any sophisticated words to describe just how happy he felt. However, it was the concern he saw etched on James' expression that sobered him up.

“Trust must come from somewhere,” Jiaying said after a few minutes of silence, as she reached up and out of the holograph's projection before drawing her hand back in. There was a small clear cube of sorts, and a black ball was sitting in the center of the cube. “One of my people had stolen this from a HYDRA facility. He said that HYDRA had been trying to activate it, to summon an entity known as Ghost Rider. It's origins are unknown, but I believe that you call it a 0-8-4? As a token of trust, we would like to return it.”

As Peggy gingerly reached over and took the object, Jiaying reached out of the projection's view again and when she drew her hand back, there was a small tablet of sorts in her hand. “It is also only fair that since we know the location of your base and where all of your agents are, Director, that you should also know where I have placed my people. At my command, they will disrupt local HYDRA operations, preventing and delaying any reinforcements, supplies, or people from getting to the silo for a while.”

Steve saw Peggy hand the cube with the sphere in it off to someone else, before taking the tablet. She activated it, but due to the size and relative distortion, neither he nor James could see what was on it. He did, however, see her thin her lips for a moment before looking back up, asking, “You could have already taken over the world, Jiaying. You don't need our help. Why are you here?”

“Because I do not wish to leave a tattered and bitter legacy to my daughter,” Jiaying answered. “The other world you speak of, the one that HYDRA intends to invade? You are right to say that Inhumans are not bothered or hunted. That is because nearly all are dead. Robin... she speaks across all realities, all worlds with her counterparts, and she told me long ago of what would happen in that world. A part of SHIELD betrayed us, discovered the peaceful life we had built for ourselves. We fought back, and we paid that price. In that reality, I tried to kill my own daughter, but her father killed me to save her life. I wish not for that to happen here.”

“And yet you almost did, when she was in Macau,” Peggy pointedly stated. “If your earlier words are to be believed, then it is still true that Agent Barton would be the only survivor. How can I trust your intentions?”

“You can't ma'am,” Steve heard the faint voice of Bucky speaking up. He was surprised at his interjection into the discussion, considering he had been the only one who had not commented or lamented anything about the mission in Macau during the five days they had been stuck in the Canadian wilderness. “But you can trust her deep seated desire to get rid of HYDRA. She'll hold her promise, so long as SHIELD and Inhuman interests align.”

In response to Bucky's statement, Steve saw Jiaying turn ever so slightly with a smile full of teeth directed at wherever Bucky was beyond the hologram. “You are one in the same,” he heard her state. “More alike than unlike.”

“It takes one to know one,” was the faint response.

“What?” Steve couldn't help but say, wondering if Bucky was responding to Jiaying or the comparison between him and James.

“It takes a monster to know a monster,” he heard James softly answer, catching his eyes as he continued, saying, “it's the same words I would have said.”

Steve gaped at James for a moment, appalled that he would say such a thing about himself, much less apply it to Bucky. “You're not monsters. Neither of you are,” he said, angry at the level of self-depreciation that James was inflicting. “Jiaying, she's a monster. Neither of you are.”

How could he make both of them see that they were worth saving, worth it in both his and his counterpart's eyes? He could comfort, he could keep talking, he could keep being there for Bucky, and he knew that his counterpart, once she healed, would do so as well. But to change their minds, to change their perception that both were monsters... It felt like he had taken one step forward in a new life with Bucky by his side, but two steps back with the Winter Soldier memories constantly in the shadows. It felt like a never ending battle that was exhausting him more than he cared to admit, but he did not want to give up – not ever.

One promise bound them, and Steve was determined never to break that, because if he did—

“Are we, Steve?”

~~~

Bucky wanted to curl back his lips in distaste, but refrained from doing so. He had intervened enough, and it seemed that his words were heard by Carter. He was surprised, though when he saw Carter turn her head slightly, looking up towards Johnson and asking, “Agent Johnson, your thoughts?”

“M-ma'am,” Johnson stuttered slightly, looking a little shocked that Carter was asking for her opinion on the matter. “I-I don't think I'm qualified--”

“You are the ranking Inhuman in SHIELD, Agent,” Carter interrupted her protest. “I need to know if you or the others will have any issue working with Jiaying and her people.”

Johnson was silent for a minute, as Bucky saw a myriad of expressions play over her face. On one hand, he knew that Carter was asking only because of what Johnson had debriefed and stated happened in Macau. On the other, Carter was right – in terms of what he could glean on dossiers and experience, Johnson was the most active field agent for the Inhumans who had joined SHIELD of their own choosing.

Finally, the Inhuman agent managed to take a deep breath, trying to calm herself as best as she could and said, “So long as our interests align, I believe that we will be able to work together. It may not be amicable, but we'll make do.”

It was not a parroting of his words, at least not exactly, but it was the most diplomatic thing she had spoken in the days and weeks Bucky had worked with her. It seemed appropriate though, for her to say something similar, to make no concrete promises that could be twisted by either parties. There was no sense of pride within him for her statement, but he could reasonably guess that his counterpart would be proud of her. That was, if his counterpart had finally gotten his head out of the proverbial sand in the last hour or so.

Carter turned back and faced Jiaying, saying, “Then on behalf of SHIELD and our Inhuman agents, we accept your proposal for an alliance against HYDRA. We look forward to working with you and your people in the coming days.”

* * *

_A few days later..._

 

It wasn't his best work, but Steve felt rather proud that he was able to sketch an adequate portrait of his counterpart with only one hand to work with. It was a happy one, one that had been seared into his memories since he had entered the Framework a second time, and an emotion that he himself didn't think he could ever fully regain. He didn't know why he had sketched that portrait of her, with her windblown Framework-altered long hair in a slightly wild style, but it seemed appropriate.

He glanced over to his left, hearing the mechanical rise and fall of the ventilator inflating and deflating her lungs. She looked so pale, paler than the off-white sheets that had been drawn up to her chin, covering the numerous amounts of tubes and hoses that were in her body, keeping her alive. He knew that it had been an utter miracle that she had initially made it out of there alive, but after three crashes on the OR table, and now this...

Steve sighed as he glanced down at his left arm, the tube drawing his blood out and over to Stevie, red and still giving her what she needed to stay alive. It had not been as heavy of a draw as it had initially been, as his wounds were slowly but surely healing, but it was still feeding into her. Campbell had been optimistic though, hoping to remove Stevie from the ventilator soon, and to allow her serum-enhanced blood mixed with Steve's own to begin working more. But it would take time for her to heal, even after he stopped giving his blood to her. He wasn't sure if Jiaying would be as patient as Peggy was, to let Stevie fully heal before beginning the assault on the silo.

He knew that there were at least two reasons why Peggy was delaying the operation – one of them being that well, he needed to go with Bucky through the 0-8-4. There was no telling what would happen during the assault on the silo: whether or not they could stop HYDRA from going through, or if Bucky and he had to go through to stop them from the other side. He hoped that it was the former, rather than the latter, but that was naive thinking and planning. He had had too much experience to do such a thing.

The second was that there were at least five – six if Natasha was included in HYDRA's forces – super-soldiers that they would potentially encounter. Fighting Bucky when he had been the Winter Soldier had greatly exhausted Steve. He had been prepared to fight five super-soldiers with Bucky by his side, and initially with Tony as well, but that was until Zemo doused the lure in cold water. Even with Inhuman help, they needed at least three super-soldiers, to stop the six that HYDRA had, especially if all six were now enhanced with Inhuman abilities as well.

Familiar footsteps approaching from outside in the hall caused him to shelve his musings as he looked up to see Bucky, pausing and hesitating at the entrance to the recovery room. Steve smiled a little, heartened with his presence at the moment. He found that even sketching and musing alone as he did, he welcomed the company.

James had spent almost every waking minute of free time since the alliance had been made, and then some asleep as well, sitting by Stevie's bed, keeping vigil. It did not escape Steve's notice that he always reluctantly left to return to his duties. Little Caroline had spent time as well, but because she would not stop trying to climb onto her mother's bed, she had been taken away until the doctors could figure out a way to carve her a little space on the bed so she would not disturb the medical apparatuses that kept Stevie alive. James had been the one who had had to take Caroline away, and it made Steve's heart ache to see the little girl trying and failing to understand why she could not remain.

“It's all right, Bucky,” he said, gesturing with his free arm for him to come in, noticing that there was an oddly familiar-looking notebook tucked under his metal arm.

The hesitation disappeared in Bucky's eyes as he entered and seemingly gingerly took a seat in stool that was next to his bed. There was a searching look in his eyes that Steve found a little odd, but as soon as his eyes strayed over to the sketch that he was working on, he heard him say, “She looks...”

“Different?” he guessed, shifting the sketch so that Bucky had a better angle to view it. “She had long hair when I found her in the Framework. I don't know why I drew her that way--”

“No, Steve,” Bucky interrupted, shaking his head slightly. “She looks... free. Like she doesn't have any burdens weighing upon her. Like she has no more secrets to keep.”

Steve blinked, and though he tried not to, he couldn't stop himself from frowning slightly, the initial happiness he had had in seeing Bucky visit evaporating as concern replaced it. “What's wrong?” he asked, folding the sketchbook close with his free hand and placing it to the side.

There it was again, the hesitating look, the uncertainty, and searching movement behind Bucky's eyes. As worried as he felt, it took Steve a great amount of effort to not ask, to not jump in and smother his best friend with questions and reassurances that everything was going to be all right. He remembered Sam stating that there would be times when something random would trigger fugues, or episodes of recall. Sam had said that that was when he needed to just be there, a silent but steady and calm presence. Yet, Steve wasn't sure if this was one at all.

After a minute, Bucky finally took the notebook out from under his arm and extended it towards him saying, “This came out of the Framework with me... with the arm. My counterpart... James... found it and returned it to me a few days ago. I need you to read it... to read at least the first ten entries, Steve.”

Steve looked at the notebook, staring at it for a few moments before looking back up at Bucky. “Bucky... I can't. It's your thoughts, your personal--”

“Please, Steve,” Bucky said, as a strange mixture of frustration and regret appearing in his eyes, with the notebook shaking slightly. “Please, take it. Read at least the first ten entries. I remember asking you many times to do really stupid things with me, and I'm glad that you were a stubborn ass to say 'no' most of those times. But this time, I'm asking you to do this, for real. I need you to read those entries... please.”

“I'll take it,” Steve answered, stricken with dismay at just how desperate his tone sounded, as he reached out and clamped his hand around the edge of the notebook. Bucky let go of the notebook, but Steve was not done, as he asked, “But why? Why now? What's so important that you can't just tell me? Why do I need to read your journal?”

“Because,” he heard him whisper, dropping his arm and turning his head slightly away from him, “the first ten entry words are the words to trigger the Winter Soldier programming within me.”

Steve nearly dropped the notebook in shock.

Thousands of thoughts raced across his mind, the most prominent being the time when they had been sitting on that floor in Stark Tower, watching the mesmerizing display of the Framework exit being built. Bucky had gone into a fugue of sorts when Steve had asked what the words were, and however brief it had been, it had been enough to frighten him to never do such a thing again – to make sure that he or others never asked Bucky about the Winter Soldier. It had also been why he had been angry at James whenever the agent pushed Bucky in the direction of remembering those Winter Soldier memories.

“Bucky,” he began, placing the notebook down on the bed, and reached out with his good arm. “Bucky, look at me, please.” He could see the reluctance within his stance and in his eyes, but slowly, Bucky did acquiesce to his request. “Why do I need to read this? Why can't you just write the ten words down?”

“Because I need you to see, to read what goes into it... what goes into the words,” Bucky quietly answered after a moment. “I can't... I can't keep doing this, Steve. There are still people in our reality who know the trigger words, who can still activate me. When Zemo did that... when he did that, I forgot who I was...and the last mission, the last Order given to me came back... It was--”

“To stop me, wasn't it?” he finished up for him, an aching pain in his heart blooming, reflecting the misery he saw in his friend's eyes.

“To kill you, Steve,” Bucky whispered, looking down. “If anyone in our reality says those words...”

“They won't,” he said, leaning over and reaching out with his good hand to gently cup it around the back of Bucky's head and neck in reassurance. “I'll make sure they won't. I promise.” While he knew that it was a somewhat hollow promise that would be difficult to keep, he wanted to give Bucky hope, to not leave him in despair at the moment. “I told you, Buck, you're worth it. You're worth everything that happened. I don't care who you've killed or what you've done – you're worth everything to me.”

It was a full minute later that Bucky finally nodded ever so slightly, still silent. Steve smiled, feeling a little happier, and a lot lighter. Instead of removing his hand though, he decided to muss Bucky's hair a little with his hand, feeling the need for just a little levity, a little bit of the old – of what Bucky used to do to his hair when he had been 'short and skinny Steve'.

“Punk,” he heard the affectionate, old insult escape from Bucky's lips as he let go, just as Bucky raised his head, looking a little better than he had a moment ago. There was still some hesitation and regret swimming in his eyes, but the despair in his eyes was lessening by the minute.

“Jerk,” he answered, the edges of his lips quirking up a little higher than his initial smile. He patted the notebook, saying, “I'll read it. Is it because Jiaying is pushing to launch the op soon, that that's why you want me to read it now?”

Bucky nodded, and after a moment, said, “Carter is delaying them as best as she could, sending Echo to help with some of the disruption operations and intel gathering on the silo and its surroundings. So far it's working, but if it comes to it, we're going to have to immediately jump over and destroy the device from our side. That's why I need you to read it now. I don't know what's going to happen or how much time has passed once we get back. I want you to be prepared for anything that might happen when we return.”

“Bucky--” he began, frustrated that it seemed that what they had discussed only a few minutes ago seemed to not have gotten through Bucky's ears.

“I heard you Steve,” Bucky interrupted, shaking his head. “And I thank you. I just want you to be prepared. Zemo used a red notebook that contains the words to trigger the programming. I don't know what happened to it after Berlin, or whether or not he has it with him. For all we know, he could've just walked away and place it on the black market. Just... just be prepared to stop me again, Steve.”

“I'm with you, until the end of the line,” Steve answered.

* * *

“Did you tell him?”

что?

Bucky blinked, lost in his thoughts for a brief moment as his feet had automatically carried him back to the ops planning room. He looked up to see that his counterpart had not even deigned to glance over towards him and was still focused on whatever he was doing with the set of data in front of him. Two pieces of data or code flew over towards other areas on the hard-light projected screen, before he saw him scribble something down on a piece of electronic note projected onto the table.

“He'll know after reading the journal. He'll know everything,” he answered, returning to the station he had been working at. The work had not been disturbed, but there were a few more pieces of data had had been stacked up next to the pile that he had been working on.

“Did he agree to stop you?” his counterpart asked after a few moments of silence, still focused on dissecting another piece of data. Even though the hour was late, there were still a few automated programs running to analyze and dissect the data. That, and both he and his counterpart had opted to take the third shift, preferring the quiet and lack of other personnel in the room.

Bucky couldn't help but snort at the ridiculousness of the question. “You should know that answer, Captain.”

After a few moments, he saw his counterpart look up, the same hardness in his eyes that was reflected in his own. “Stevie will try to stop you, even if Steve refuses to do so. Even if he does try to stop you, she'll still help. If you so much as touch a hair on her, Sergeant--”

“There's really no need for the threats, Captain,” he immediately stated, interrupting him and giving him a disdainful look. He placed his hands down on the table and leaned forward slightly against the table, saying, “I know what you're going to do, and I want you to do it, _**if**_ it ever happens in this reality. I am never in control when it's invoked.”

“It will break his heart, Sergeant,” his counterpart stated after a few moments, though nothing in his eyes had changed.

я знаю.

“I know,” he stated. “But I'd rather die than wake up and see that I killed him – that I completed my mission.”

* * *

“Still awake, Captain Rogers?”

Steve looked up, blinking rapidly as he realized he had spent the last few minutes staring at the final page of written words from Bucky's journal. He had already read through the page, but the thoughts, the emotions that swirled within him from reading and realizing so many things he had missed, misinterpreted, and even forgotten in his own memories that ran parallel to the ones Bucky had written down... He sighed and closed the notebook, placing it to the other side of him, as Peggy sat down on the stool.

“Couldn't sleep,” he said, knowing it was a lame excuse. “I hope I didn't disturb your rest, Peg—I mean, Director Carter.”

“It's all right,” she said, nodding, reaching out with her hands and clasping his free on in her own, squeezing it in reassurance before letting go. “You can call me Peggy, Captain. This must be difficult for you. I don't know what the extent of your relationship was with my counterpart in your reality, but Sharon told me a little of what you've told her. God only knows that you and my counterpart were separated by nearly seven decades. As for disturbing my rest, well, I do tend to work late, especially with the operation that we're planning for. I just wanted to make sure that everything was all right.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling his spirits lift a little after what he had just read through. “Truly.” He hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was even appropriate for him to say what he wanted to say, but pushed the hesitation aside. “And I'm sorry for your loss, Peggy.”

She was silent for a few minutes before nodding, whispering, “Thank you.” The silence that stretched between them was not comfortable, nor was it uncomfortable. However, Peggy cleared her throat after another few minutes, and asked in a more pleasant tone, “Do you sketch?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” he said, picking up his sketchpad and giving it to her to look through, knowing that there was at least another commonality this reality's Peggy Carter had with his own – insatiable curiosity to see what he had sketched. “I used to do it more often, but since I woke up from ice... now this...”

“These are beautiful,” she murmured after a few minutes of silently looking through and flipping the pages he had filled up thus far. “Photographic memory?” she questioned, but then answered it with, “No... this is eidetic memory. Stevie has photographic... yours is eidetic. The recall... the details...”

“I guess that's another difference between us?” he commented, smiling slightly. Even when they had rare moments to share together, alone and away from eyes around the SSR Headquarters, he remembered that Peggy tried her best to turn off the 'agent' part of her – to just try to relax and be herself. It had been difficult for both of them to do so; the stress of their duties, the war and HYDRA that constantly hung over their heads – but they had made their time together work.

“Howard Stark,” she said a few moments later, flipping to a sketch that he had made from memory of Howard in his laboratory at headquarters, looking quite excited and happy at the results of some experiment that had been a success. “He looks as if I remember him from long ago, even if this Howard is not the Howard I knew.”

Steve remained silent, watching as Peggy flipped a few more pages, admiring and occasionally tracing her fingers close to the paper over the scenes and portraits he had drawn. She paused for a full minute on the sketch of herself, drawn as he had remembered Peggy during the war. He noticed that she was looking as if she was about to make a comment. That minute passed without a word and it was only when she flipped to the next sketch did she say, “These two portraits... myself in your reality and Captain... no, this one isn't Captain Barnes... it's of Sergeant Barnes... they seem different. Sketched as if you had a better awareness of something...”

She looked up at him, this time actually expecting an answer, and he found that he could not answer right away. The two portraits that she had just seen were different, but not because they were both a little more photo-realistic than his usual sketches, but because he had sketched the two portraits in the middle of reading Bucky's journal. He had needed to take a break, to let the words from the journal thus far sink in – had needed to just let his thoughts process what he had just read.

“There were,” he began, pausing for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts again. “There were a lot of things that I thought I was aware of, of perceptions that I thought were true or false during the war, maybe even before it. Being here...learning, seeing, and experiencing some of it myself...I was wrong about many of them. I wish I could go back in time and change a few things, apologize to Peggy and Bucky, but I know I can't. I have to live with the consequences of my own choices, of what I did back then, and what I have done now.”

He sighed, unable to keep the despair out of his tone as he reached over and flipped the sketch back to Peggy for a moment, saying, “Peggy passed away in her sleep a few weeks ago. I can't ask her to forgive me anymore.”

“Will you ask Sergeant Barnes?” she asked after a few moments, closing the sketchpad and resting her hands on top of it.

“I don't know,” he admitted, feeling the sharp edge of sorrow stab through him. “I think it might be too late to ask him to forgive me.”

“Asking is not your only option, Captain Rogers,” she said after a minute, returning the sketchpad to him. “I've seen him writing a lot in a notebook in the past few days. May I assume that it was his journal that he gave you to read?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding.

“Then forgive me if I use what I know of Captain Barnes as an example to relate to your Sergeant Barnes, since they are more similar to each other than I believe they even realize themselves,” she said, clasping her hands together. “He's given you that journal. He knows what you're going to read will be uncomfortable, even painful. But he is aware that your perception has changed, that you are able to see things from a different perspective than you used to see them. He's aware that you've had to compromise some of the ideals you've held in your heart to get here.”

She paused for a moment, reaching out and clasping her hands over his, saying, “He's not asking for forgiveness, nor will he, I believe, give you forgiveness, Captain Rogers. He's asking you to move forward, to move on, to not linger in the past, and to let this chapter in your life – in your heart, close.”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	18. Memory: один

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**один** _

_Year:_ _1944, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: November 5_ _th_ _, no additional fragments_

_Time: Night, no additional fragments_

_Location: SSR Headquarters, no additional fragments_

 

“... at least she's safer in the countryside than in any of the cities. That's all I can ask for,” Peggy finished saying, drawing up her knees and wrapped her arms around them for a moment.

Silence fell among the three of them, punctured only by the pop and crackling sound of the wood burning in campfire before Steve spoke up, saying, “I don't have any brothers or sisters. My father died from mustard gas poisoning. I never knew him, even though Mother had a picture of him. She didn't talk about him a lot, but I had seen her cry over the picture many times. She was a nurse, worked in the TB ward. Passed away a few years ago after contracting it.”

“And you, Sergeant Barnes?” Peggy asked after a few moments, uncurling herself to sit properly again.

“Three sisters,” he began, “Rebecca, Samantha, and Agnes, all working as seamstresses in the factories, though last I heard, Agnes picked up work as a riveter. Father killed himself in after running afoul of the Atlantic City mob when I was ten. Had to take over and help Mother make ends meet since I was the oldest and the man of the household. Had to take care of this punk--” he affectionately jerked his thumb at Steve “--as well. He wouldn't stop getting into fights.”

There was an amused look on Peggy's face as Steve protested with a, “Hey!”

“So family histories aside,” Bucky said after a moment, “you're surely not asking us to write confessionals and throw them in the fire, are you, Agent Carter?”

He could have easily called her 'Peggy' as the other Howling Commandos did whenever she was among them and not among the brass. However, it was a long-standing agreement-disagreement of sorts between him and Steve's girl to just refer to each other by rank and surname. It made it formally entertaining, and most of all, Bucky found himself greatly amused by the guessing game that had sprung up with the others in the group as to why he and Peggy called each other by formal names.

Most thought neither could tolerate each other, and both he and Peggy had agreed to let that rumor grow – to see how it shaped other rumors running around camp, and to give him the best cover to report rumors to her. Of course, Steve had figured out part of the name addressing formality – it was due to him, Bucky, being completely ignored that first time Peggy had stepped into that bar in her gorgeously stunning red dress.

“I am,” she answered, distributing the papers and pens to both him and Steve. “But it's more writing the one thing you regret and tossing it into the fire. It started with my great-grandfather when he was a young naval officer fighting in the Napoleonic War. His shipmates started that tradition on their ship in the hopes of going into battle with no regrets. It carried over to the Fifth of November, since it was easier to toss a piece of paper during a bonfire in public than in private and potentially have a family member read the scrap before it completely burned away.”

“One regret?” Bucky asked, his pen poised over the paper. “I have a few.”

“One regret,” Peggy answered, giving him a solemn look. “From your heart. You write it, burn it, and leave it to ashes. That regret should haunt you no longer after it's completely burnt.”

“Do we have to say what it is?” Steve asked, his tone a little melancholic.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. “I'll admit, this has been helping me cope, and I hope that it will help both of you as well.”

Bucky saw Steve start, before seeing Peggy reach out and grasp Steve's hand, squeezing it in reassurance. “Peggy,” Bucky spoke up before Steve could say a word. “Thank you.”

He returned his attention to the paper sitting on his lap as he thought about what to write. Even though he had stated that he had a few regrets in a joking tone, it was true. There were so many things he regretted not doing or had done up until now. However, as he glanced up for a moment, looking at both Steve and Peggy, lit up by the firelight that sat in front of them, he couldn't help the brief smile that appeared on his face. Focusing back on the paper, he wrote down his one regret that he knew was finally time to let go of.

Folding the paper into quarters, he blew out a noisy sigh and readjusted himself on the chair as he leaned forward, sitting slightly hunched over. Soon after, the two were done with whatever they had written as well. “Any formality to this?” he asked.

“No,” Peggy answered, reaching forward and stuffing her folded paper into the bottom of the fire where it was the hottest. She took a stick lying on the side and poke it in some more before handing the stick to Steve.

Steve did the same and after he was done and handed the stick to Bucky. Bucky leaned forward and poked his folded paper into his section of the fire. Seeing that paper curl and burn felt oddly satisfying, and he had to give credit where it was due. Peggy was right – he felt a lot lighter, a lot more relieved that he had finally written down that one regret that had haunted him, and watched it turn into ashes and dust. It would no longer hang over him, because he should have made his peace long ago, long before Margaret 'Peggy' Carter stepped into his best friend's life.

The three of them sat in silence for a while, seemingly content on watching the fire burn. It was only when the scuffling of feet on the ground that they all looked up to see that Howard's assistant was approaching. “Captain Rogers?” the assistant questioned. “Mr. Stark is looking for you.”

“That was fast,” Steve said, looking a little regretful that he was leaving the peaceful atmosphere that had settled around them, as he stood up.

“We'll still be here, Steve,” Bucky grinned, knowing that despite whatever Howard had finished for Steve, Steve wanted to stay here and enjoy the company. “Just bring something strong back after Howard's through with you.”

“Not that strong, please, Steve,” Peggy chimed in, before giving Bucky a withering glare that didn't fully reach her eyes. “Some of us still have work to do in the morning.”

“All right,” Steve answered, smiling, and nodded towards the assistant to lead the way.

It was only well after Steve and the assistant had disappeared that Peggy shifted over to sit in the spot that Steve had vacated. Bucky didn't mind, but neither did he move to open the space between them. Over the crackling and popping noise of the fire, he heard her ask, “You wrote it down, didn't you?”

He glanced over at her, before focusing back on the fire, weaving his hands together and rested his arms on his knees. “Yeah,” he answered. “I did.”

The silence that fell between them was long, but it was not uncomfortable. It was broken after a few minutes as she asked, “Why didn't you ever tell him?”

“What difference would it have made?” he countered, glancing over at her. “You've seen him before the serum transformed him. You know what he was like. That punk had a single-minded goal, and nothing was going to change that.” He returned his gaze to the fire. “I tried to, Peggy. I honestly tried to, but I couldn't do that to Steve.”

He fell silent, looking down at the ground before looking back up and over to her, saying, “I don't have to regret anymore. You're the best thing that's happen to him – even better than that serum. You're his light, but I'll always be his shadow... be both of your shadows. It's where I live, where I work, and where I'll protect both of you.”

“In another life, you would have made a wonderful agent, Bucky,” she softly stated, reaching out and grasping his left hand with her right for a moment. “But here, you are a wonderful friend, and I'm glad to have come to know you. Thank you.”

She let go and leaned slightly away, staring at the fire. Bucky could feel the sad smile tug up at the corners of his lips as he too returned his gaze to the fire. He had never stated his regret to Peggy, never said or indicated anything with regards to what she had figured out – it was, as he had determined long ago, that Peggy Carter was one extremely intelligent and astute woman. Time would only tell what the future held for her, even after she married Steve, but he had a feeling that she was going to be a force to reckon with.

So he said, “Thank you, Peggy, for keeping my one regret, secret.”

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**один** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	19. грузовой вагон (Freight Car)

 

**Chapter 10: грузовой вагон (Freight Car)**

 

Two weeks.

It took almost two weeks for Stephanie Rogers to wake up and recover, and those days that passed, SHIELD had been extremely busy, preparing for the assault. Jiaying had some of her people transfer to the SHIELD base, to help with coordination on the assault, and to give Carter the dossiers needed. However, SHIELD had not just been active in collection intelligence on HYDRA's movements, or in applying political pressure on various military groups. Of all the teams that remained intact, Strike Echo, the two-man and one dog team, had been sent out on recon and occasionally helping with disrupt missions. To ensure that Echo was not being strained too much, Barton occasionally sortied with the team, providing extra firepower with his skills in archery.

Triplett had lost his arm that had been broken upon the crash in the Canadian wilderness. Despite the loss though, the engineer-pilot had been fitted with a temporary hook and vowed to continue to fly quinjets. In the past few days though, the young man had been working more with the engineering team, developing as many prototypes and defenses they could use in the assault than piloting quinjets.

Johnson remained in the ops planning room for most of those days, with her skills as a hacker desperately needed to break into various areas that HYDRA or other non-friendly governments controlled. Bucky had occasionally seen the woman leave the ops planning room though, to at least spend what downtime she had with Campbell. He knew that it had been difficult though, for the two to sync their schedules or find time together. They had reminded him a little of various personnel back in the war who had similar duties and tried to make the most of their time together.

His counterpart... Bucky didn't really know what to make of his counterpart. Both he and his counterpart had both continued to take the third shift, but other than working on data analysis and dissection, along with various assault plans, he hadn't seen much of him. He knew that his counterpart had spent most of his free time sitting vigil in the recovery room. While he knew that he could have also sat by Rogers—no, it was not 'Rogers' anymore, it was 'Steve'—sat by Steve's side as well, he had chosen not to. He knew long ago, sentiment and who he used to be would have driven him to sit by Steve's bed. Now though, he'd have rather let him rest and recover in peace.

Practicality had also ruled the decision: his counterpart had occasionally brought the little girl, Caroline, in to sit with him in the recovery room. Bucky had not felt like confusing the girl any further, nor continue to traumatize her from what she had possibly seen him do to Dottie Underwood. Said girl had been evacuated out of the base earlier today. He knew not where she had been relocated, but it was for the better.

Finally, Carter had asked him once if he would have liked to go with Echo to sortie on a disrupt run – a 'change of pace' as she had succinctly put it. He had considered it, had almost agreed to it, as it would have been good to get at least some fresh air other than brief walks above ground. Yet, he hadn't gone.

First, if he had soloed with a SHIELD team to assault a facility, someone would most likely have told Steve. Then, Steve would have most likely gone spare, sitting in the recovery room. Second, after all that they had been through in these past few weeks, he wasn't that cruel to leave him behind. Sure he may have been rude at times towards Steve, especially when his Winter Soldier memories took precedence, but it was because of their childhood promise that he stayed.

At the moment though, he frowned as he peeked into the recovery room – neither Steve's counterpart or Steve were present. Of course, Steve had been discharged a couple of days ago, after Campbell had made sure that being a blood bank to a counterpart for a while had not done anything adverse to him. However, he was a little surprised that Steve's counterpart was also not there, as last he had seen, just before Steve had been discharged, Steve's counterpart still looked a little pale and not at full strength. He would have thought that for the commonalities that the two had, Steve would have at least been keeping his own counterpart company.

It had been Carter's orders to allow Steve's counterpart to tie into the briefing from her medical bed, on the account that she would be strong enough to participate in the mission once the teams were given a go. His counterpart was supposed to have relayed that, bringing the necessary equipment to her so that she could see what they were seeing in the planning room. Bucky had ended up being the messenger when his counterpart was no where to be found, though Johnson had stated she thought she saw him head up to the surface for something.

Whatever it was, it wasn't his concern – his counterpart knew how to hide from prying eyes, and SHIELD's new location was remote enough that they had to only watch out for the random fishing boat that rowed past the area. Tucking the laptop under his arm, he started to walk back towards the planning room, when the familiar tread of Steve's footsteps approaching down an adjacent hall ahead of him caused him to pause.

There were about thirty minutes before the briefing was to start, and if he walked away now, he could avoid having to talk to Steve before it started. The gait of Steve's footsteps told him that he was looking for someone – most likely him, and most likely to discuss the journal. Bucky was not in the mood to do such a thing, and after Steve had been discharged from medical, he had taken steps to avoid him. It was not fear or shame that drove him to do that, but the fact that Steve now knew the full meaning behind his asking to stop him if those damnable words were ever said again. He did not want to listen to Steve's protests, his attempt to convince him to take back those words.

He wanted the promise he had extracted from Steve to remain.

But he didn't move. He didn't turn around and walked in the opposite direction. He just stood there, with his traitorous body refusing to move as the footsteps got closer. After Steve turned the corner and stopped, he heard him say, “Hey, Bucky.”

“Steve,” he greeted, neutral, searching, waiting for the inevitable ax to drop.

“You got a moment to talk?”

He opened his mouth to answer 'no', formed the words in his mind to deny, but it was the rapid footsteps coming down from another hall and the sudden appearance of Director Carter that saved him from it. “Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes,” she greeted in a crisp tone before asking, “Have either of you seen your counterparts?”

“He said he needed some air,” he stated, pointing up towards the ceiling.

At the same time, Steve had said, “She said she was sick and tired of being cooped up down here.”

And then it finally made sense for him – why no one could find either of their counterparts. With all things considered, the surface was most likely the only place where anyone could get any privacy from those living below the surface. He amended his statement with, “They're probably debriefing each other.”

Silence answered his words.

“Debriefing,” Carter stated, as he saw her place her hands on her hips for a moment before she realized what he was implying. She sighed, shaking her head slightly, and Bucky deliberately avoided looking at Steve, focusing his attention on Carter.

“They know what time the briefing starts, Director,” he said, drawing the laptop from under his arm and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” Carter said, taking the laptop before nodding once before turning and left.

He watched her leave. It was only after he couldn't hear her footsteps down the halls anymore that he finally said, “You still a tomato, Steve?”

He glanced over after a full five seconds of silence answered his question. While a part of him was a little exasperated that Steve was indeed, still flushed red with embarrassment, the other part was surprisingly a little sympathetic. Not accounting for the nearly centennial age that both he and Steve were at, they were still biologically close to the ages in which they had 'died'.

He knew and remembered that despite doing all that he could to make sure that Steve had a chance in life, to settle down with a girl who would love him for who he was, Steve most likely never got physically far enough with Carter during the war. Steve certainly never got far enough to even kiss any of the girls that he, Bucky, had set him up with before they had gone to war. Steve was too much of a straitlaced, painfully shy gentleman around women, even though Bucky remembered him easily joking with the rest of the Commandos about more 'ribald' things.

But Bucky understood that this current situation was a little different. These were their counterparts, and he knew that Steve had seen, had become aware that their counterparts' dynamics were nearly similar to their own. He knew that he was being quite clinical in his analysis, in his reading of the situation, but he couldn't shut that part of him off – not like he used to, not like his memories told him that he had been able to.

He remembered deflecting, remembered staving off, remembered lying, remembered being unsure even within himself, of what Steve Rogers truly meant to him. He remembered finding a peace of mind that day when Carter had introduced them to her tradition; a way to live with what he had done, had never said, and had now.

“See you at the briefing,” he said, the thoughts that ran through his head taking less than a second after he had asked Steve that question.

“Bucky, wait,” Steve spoke up, taking a step forward and reaching out with his free hand, but hesitating on placing it on Bucky's arm, shoulder – he didn't know where exactly. Steve was still a little red, but his embarrassment seemed to have been wrestled under control. “I need to talk to you. I need to get this off of my chest. Please.”

There was no plaintive tone in that request, just a simple askance of his time. “You know we have less than thirty minutes,” he said at last, nodding once.

Bucky could avoid talking to Steve as much as possible, but whatever he needed to say, it would be said. Now was not a good time, but it was better than later, when they could all be possibly fighting for their lives. He knew that a desperate confession in the heat of battle was not what either of them would ever state – they were professional soldiers after all – but considering the hell they had been through in the past few weeks, putting it to the side would just be detrimental to a soldier's mentality. Both of them were already emotionally and mentally compromised – by each other – well before they had landed in this other reality.

“Is it about the journal?” he asked.

“Yes, and no,” Steve answered, looking solemn and serious. “That journal entry... the one where the three of us were sitting around that campfire and Peggy introduced us to her tradition?”

“What about it?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as even as possible, strangely feeling a little apprehensive.

“This is what I wrote on that paper before I burned it,” Steve said, drawing the journal out from where it had been tucked under his arm. There were additional leaflets – no, Steve had stuck his sketchbook in between the last few blank pages of the notebook – making the the journal a little more hefty and weighty as he handed it to him. “First piece of paper, first page.”

Bucky took it, and opened it. It was a simple sentence, really, and it confirmed what he suspected... no what he _knew_ and had remembered. It was a life past, a reality that could never return, because he was no longer that person that Steve hoped to get back. But even though he knew that Steve understood why, he knew that he still owed it to him let him know what he had burned that day. He had to let him finally know the one memory he had never wanted him to ever find out, in order to let the past die.

Fishing out a pen from his pocket, he balanced the notebook in his left hand and wrote out the fragmented piece of paper he had burned, below the sentence that Steve had written. He pocketed his pen again and closed the notebook, silently handing it back to Steve. Steve took it, and Bucky watched him open the notebook to the same page, silently reading the sentence. He didn't look away when Steve looked up from the page, saying, “You told me that your father was killed by the New Jersey mob bosses.”

“He was,” he confirmed.

“Then why?”

“I don't remember.”

“Bucky...”

The plaintive tone was back for a moment, and it scraped at him. He had lied a few times to Steve before, and Steve had believed those lies, but this... he knew that he had openly lied about not remembering, and he didn't know why he had automatically done so. “My father was going to kill both your mother and you, Steve. After he had completed his run that day. He even brought his entire stock of ammunition, guns, rifles... everything with him that morning. Mom naturally thought it was because he was going to be doing a dangerous run for the Feds that he carried all of it with him. He was going to make your deaths look like a mob hit.”

He paused for a moment, glancing down at his good hand, seeing it in a different light for the first time and wondering just how much blood he had drenched it in since that day. Looking back up, he continued to say, “He told Becca, Samantha, and I not to go to school that day. It made the run he did for the Feds seem more important. Becca and Samantha didn't obey him though, and I covered for both of them when they snuck off to school, after Mom had left with Agnes and went to the factory. You... well, you decided to play hooky that day and visited, so I had to improvise being sick.”

“I remember that day,” Steve softly stated. “You told me to sit far away because you thought you were contagious. You didn't even let me try to take care of you.”

“Yeah, and I had to kick you out because I needed to get word to the New Jersey mob about my father's route,” he said. “I didn't want that day to end like that, but it was your life or my father's in my hands... and well, I had already made my choice. I put the message in one of their known dead drops, hoping that they would get it in time. It wasn't until past midnight that the police showed up at the door and told us what happened. So what I wrote there, Steve, it's true. I knew what I was doing and how I was going to accomplish it.”

“Why...” Steve began, looking distraught and hesitant at the same time. “Why did your father want to kill us? What did either of us do to your family?”

“It wasn't anything you or your mother did, Steve,” he quietly answered. “It was me. The only way he knew how to correct a negative influence, was to beat it until it could not move anymore – to scare it from ever rising again. If it still lived, if it still rebelled, then he would kill it or whatever influenced it. It's how he lived and worked in the East End, back when he was a constable there... back when he and his fellows were hunting a copycat Jack the Ripper.”

He briefly looked away before focusing back on Steve, saying, “No matter how many times he beat me, I never gave in. My heart never changed. I kept saying it to his face, and it made me stronger, and him just angrier. That was, until he decided to nix the influence. You.”

He looked at his good hand again. “I don't know what I am, Steve. But I do know that there's been a black, dark, remorseless monster living inside of me since that day--”

“No!”

The forcefulness of Steve's denial startled him, as did the hard jab he felt in the middle of his chest from Steve's finger. He looked up to see him standing within his personal space. As much as he wanted to back up and open that space between them again, he couldn't – there was a wall behind him anyways. He knew that he could step away to either the left or right to open that space, but the frustrated, hurt look in Steve's eyes prevented him from moving.

“Didn't you hear me?” Steve said, his tone full of frustration and despair. He jabbed his finger into his chest again, but not with the same force as he had done a moment ago. “Didn't anything I said to you when you told me to read your journal get through to you? I told you, I don't care what you've done. You are worth everything to me. Please stop doing this to yourself, Bucky! What is past is past and I just want _us_ to move on, to just...”

Bucky saw him close his eyes for a moment, his expression etched in grief, as he bowed his head ever so slightly. Steve's hand that had poked the finger into his chest curling as he felt him thump it against his chest. “I know we can't ever go back and change anything, Bucky. I'm sorry for everything that's happened.”

Steve opened his eyes again, and though there were tears in them, none had fallen, as he felt Steve's fist on his chest uncurl. Steve's palm was not pressing against his chest, but it was resting there as he continued to say, “You are not a monster, Bucky. You never were. You defend the innocent, speak for those oppressed, those who need help, and those who can't fight. You are a winter soldier who is ever vigilant in his defense of life and liberty. You are not a weapon. You were and still are my best friend, and the only one I had cared deeply about. I still do. That is who you are to me, now and forever.”

Steve finally stepped back, dropping his hand away, his confession done, as Bucky watched him for a moment. Steve looked exhausted, as if that entire pouring of his deepest thoughts and heartfelt feelings had completely drained him. On one hand, he was glad that Steve understood his implicit want to let the past die, to move on, and that the promise he had extracted had not been retracted. On the other hand, he wanted to step in, to embrace him and tell him that he was going to be all right. He wanted to reassure him that he was going to get all of his memories back, to try to be the better person that Steve saw in him, but he didn't step in.

It was a lie that Bucky dared not give hope to. So long as the HYDRA programming remained in him, he would always break that ideal that Steve saw in him. He would break his heart... break both of their own hearts. A million shards would fall again, and if each time he managed to regain enough of his memories, he knew that it would just happen again. He didn't save Steve from his father, from bullies, or from the Potomac just to put him through hell over and over until there would be nothing left.

Instead he did what he knew he could do to reconcile at the moment: he stepped in and tightly embraced Steve, wrapping only his good arm around him. “We do this day by day, Steve. Okay? Take it day by day, like what we've been doing so far... except without the stupid stuff. We get back, you go free Wilson and the others, and we take it day by day. We see where this--” he pressed his hand against Steve's back for a brief moment “--goes, but no matter what, we go forward.”

He felt Steve nod into his shoulder, his arms wrapped around him as if he were clinging onto him like a life raft. He expected him to cry in relief, happiness, sadness, or something else, but he didn't hear such a sound from him. All he heard was the muffled words being said into his shoulder, “Forward and together until the end of the line?”

“Yeah,” he said, as he couldn't help but feel a little lighter, a little happier than he had been for a while. It was a realistic hope and a promise that he knew that he could keep. “Forward and together until the end of the line.”

* * *

The ops planning room was packed. Every single person that could squeeze in there was present, listening to the briefing that was being presented. Inhumans mingled with SHIELD agents, and no one was giving either groups any suspicious or hostile looks. Every person in that room knew what was at stake, and knew that if they were not united, then they would fall.

“There are only two ways down into the silo. One is through the bunker's elevator shaft, and the other is through the actual missile launch area itself,” Peggy stated, manipulating and pointing to the two areas where Steve remembered he and Bucky entering the silo, and to the missile bay, where they had fought against Tony. “Both entrances will be heavily guarded. As of the latest satellite photos, they show about six thousand troops massed outside, with another additional six thousand being flown or shipped into the region in the coming days. Full disrupt operations by Jiaying's people will commence on the onset of the attack.”

Steve saw her expand the hard-light projection to an overhead view of the area surrounding the silo. There were a few AA guns, four SAMs positioned in cross-fire, and a lot of temporary bunkers dotted a clear and thick perimeter around the silo. Several bunkers that looked to be embedded deep within the ground and could be elevated to emerge from the ground were highlighted.

“Intel collected puts these underground rising bunkers at about five meters in total height, armor plated and thick enough that they can potentially withstand the missiles that the quinjets carry. They are equipped with Gatling variants of the tesseract weapons, and will be the priority targets for ground teams Charlie through Foxtrot to destroy. Air support will be provided to clear the AA guns and SAMs.”

Peggy highlighted the Gatling version of the tesseract and zoomed in, saying, “These were believed to be created by harnessing the power from an alien device. We do not know where the device is, only that a single bolt from any of these types of guns can vaporize someone. Currently, vibranium is the only metal known to be able to withstand this type of weaponry. Since we do not have any available, evasive maneuvers are required to avoid being killed by these. Concrete structures and thick metal armor support vehicles will be able to sustain a brief barrage. Engineering estimates the timing to be about fifteen seconds if a Gatling is encountered. If you see these being deployed in the field, take those soldiers out first.”

The projection was cleared and Peggy brought up the silo once again, saying, “Alpha and Bravo will be deployed inside the silo. Gordon will be teleporting the teams directly into the silo, but his priority after that will be to the external assault. Due to limited intel, we can only speculate as to how guarded the inside of the silo will be, and where the 0-8-4 transportation device is. However, there is a good chance that these six HYDRA agents--” she pulled up the five pictures of the super-soldiers and Natasha “--will be in the silo. The priority is to find them and prevent them from getting through to the other side.”

There was a pause in the briefing, in which Steve saw Peggy bring up the team lists for Alpha through Foxtrot. Not only were most, if not all of the SHIELD personnel going on this attack run were embedded in Charlie through Foxtrot, there were quite a few Inhumans as well. He glanced around the darkened room, with only the glow of the table illuminating those gathered, along with the Inhumans that Jiaying had hand-selected to participate in this mission.

The briefing was being projected to those around the base who couldn't squeeze into the ops planning room, but Steve still thought that their numbers, especially for Charlie, Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot, were much too small. Even though he had heard Peggy state that the Inhumans could have already taken over the world, the number committed to this assault did not sit well with him. He felt as if Jiaying was holding back and only providing the bare minimum that would satisfy Peggy. However, he had had no insight as to what else had been negotiated since the day the alliance was made, and thus refrained from commenting.

Both he and his counterpart were the team leads for Bravo and Alpha, respectively, but he was a little puzzled at the fourth name listed in Alpha's team. He didn't know who 'Ghost Rider' was, but before he could ask Peggy who Ghost Rider was, he saw her draw out a small cube with a spherical marble or ball inside of it. It was the same 0-8-4 that Jiaying had given to Peggy at the onset of the alliance.

“Time to call in the favor, Captain Rogers,” he heard Peggy say as she handed the cube to Stevie. “Direct him as you see fit.”

“Ma'am,” Stevie said, nodding, before opening the cube up and taking the sphere out. He saw her extend her hand out and briefly squeeze the solid-looking object, before opening her hands and letting the dust from it being crushed, crumble. Where the dust settled, it swirled and formed into a humanoid shape. It solidified after a moment, and Steve couldn't help but blink in slightly surprise.

The stranger standing before Stevie was a man probably not much older than either he or Stevie were. With a narrow face, dark and close-cropped hair, and tanned look about him, he was wearing a zipped up leather jacket, cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and fingerless black gloves. He had a chain wrapped in a cross shoulder fashion around him. “Collecting the favor?” was all the young man asked, giving both Stevie and Peggy a sardonic smile.

“Yep,” Stevie answered, nodding once. “New host?”

“Yeah. Robbie Reyes. Point the way--” Reyes began, but paused and frowned, as he tilted his head slightly, looking beyond Stevie for a moment. “Daisy.”

Steve turned his head slightly to see that Johnson had an utterly confused look on her face. “Um... we've never met...”

“No,” Reyes said, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry. I met a counterpart of yourself in another world--” The man paused again, and this time, Steve saw the pronounced frown upon his face as Reyes directed his attention on both him and Bucky. “Uh... I was just in the world that that Daisy and you two are from... what are you guys doing here?”

Steve wanted to ask the obvious question, but it was Bucky who stated in a rather dry tone, “We're stuck here. Got a way back?”

“You don't... trust me, you don't want to owe Ghost Rider a favor. It works better for both parties if he owes them a favor,” Reyes said, before focusing on Peggy, asking, “I take it this op is to get these two people back and destroy whatever the hell brought them here? I mean, its a little jarring to see them at a different frequency than the rest of you. Even the...well, it's a little unsettling.”

“Correct,” Peggy answered. “Captain Rogers will brief you on what to expect.”

Steve was curious as to what exactly Robbie Reyes was, or rather why the man played 'host' to what seemed like a different entity called Ghost Rider. However, considering Reyes' words, he wasn't sure if the man was approachable. Stevie seemed the most comfortable dealing with Reyes, but with all things considered, he would accept help from anywhere, even if the man didn't seem quite alien. Thor and Loki spoke bombastically, and both were definitely epitomes of larger-than-life normalcy, but Reyes seemed more down-to-earth, more local-like.

Reyes merely nodded before taking a look at the team listings, but did not deign to comment on any of it. Instead, it was Stevie who spoke up, saying, “The teams still look too small for the size of the assault. Do we have any decoys or projectors left, Director?”

“We have thirty of them,” Peggy stated. “All will be deployed.”

“Still not enough,” he heard James mutter none-too-softly, though the agent's hardened look was not on either Peggy or Stevie, but was settled on Jiaying.

“My people are needed for the disruption operations, if you're silently implying that I am not committed to the assault, Captain Barnes,” the leader of the Inhumans answered, her tone almost hostile.

“I didn't say it,” came the retort.

“I have an idea,” Steve jumped in before an argument or worse, could break out. He was definitely thinking by the seat of his pants here, but it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. “Your telepath, Taylor... is she here, Jiaying?”

“I am,” the woman answered, stepping and making her way forward from where she had been standing at the far side of the briefing room. The scaly-looking woman took a position near Jiaying, glancing at her leader for confirmation before Jiaying gave her a nod of reassurance.

“How many minds do you think you can control at once?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” she answered. “Ten... fifteen?”

_You know, I read those SSR files. Greatest Generation? You guys sure did a lot of nasty stuff._

_Yeah, we compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But we did it so people could be free._

“Would you be willing to try to control at least twenty, simultaneously? Make at least twenty HYDRA soldiers on the perimeter see illusions of an enormous fleet and people... or turn them on each other.” He had had to swallow the bile that threatened to rise when he had stated that last part. It wasn't his intention to cause a self-inflicted massacre on HYDRA, but it was going to be the quickest way make sure that the perimeter assault teams survived.

“I can try...” the Inhuman began, but then took a deep breath, as if infusing herself with more confidence. “I can do it.”

“Gordon will be able to teleport you around once he gets the two teams in,” Jiaying said, nodding.

“Questions?” Peggy asked after nodding in agreement with the idea. There were some people shaking their heads in a negative fashion, but neither those present in the room or those connected via holographic projection spoke up. “We deploy in one hour. Good hunting.”

* * *

The halls were eerily empty and silent enough that one could hear a pin drop, or even louder, Barton sneezing two halls down before his footsteps carried him back to the hall the rest of them were gathered in. The eight of them, Alpha and Bravo teams, and Gordon were expecting the call to teleport in at any moment, though Barton had run back to the armory to grab something. He had returned, looking no different than when he had left – at least that was Bucky's opinion.

Bucky casually leaned against the wall, fiddling with the fine-tune calibration of the scope of the sniper rifle that he had used to take down 28 experimental jet fighters from the New Jersey Joint Base. It was a beautiful sniper rifle, and someone had managed to scrounge up the requisite four cartridges of eight armor-piercing bullets each for the rifle from somewhere. He didn't know who had left it on top of his gear in the lockers, but he took the gift for what it was. While he hadn't thought of a name for the rifle yet, there were a few names floating in his thoughts.

He glanced up for a moment as he saw Barton walk up to where Reyes, his counterpart, Johnson, and Campbell were. Steve and Steve's counterpart were standing a little bit ways away from the rest of them, but had stopped whatever they had been discussing. Hurry up and wait seemed to not sit well with any of them, including Gordon, who was standing alone on the far side of where the eight of them were gathered. The Inhuman had his head bent slightly and down, as if preoccupied or was talking to someone via another channel in the com lines.

“Think you can still do this, Sparky?” Barton said, pulling out a small pouch that looked like a bag of marbles or something similar from one of the waist belt compartments around his waist.

“Come on, Clint, I thought it was agreed that we all decided to drop that call sign,” Campbell complained, before taking the bag and opening it. “And yes, I think I can still chain it. Thank you.”

“Lightning is too much of a mouthful,” he heard his counterpart quip in a good-natured tone. Whatever had happened above ground, 'debrief' or not, it seemed that his counterpart had found a small measure of peace within in himself. Bucky glanced back down for a moment and tweaked a knob on the side of the scope ever so slightly – it seemed both he and his counterpart had.

“And it sounds like we're all LARPing if any of us says it through com,” he heard his counterpart continue. “Needs to be one syllable or two at max. You didn't want us to call you Bolt, since it sounded like a dog's name.”

“But Ghost Rider here,” Campbell began, looking a little annoyed, and gesturing to Reyes who had a mild look on his face. “That's three syllables...”

“Because he's Ghost Rider,” he heard Steve's counterpart interject as he saw both Steve and her approach the little group.

Bucky remained where he was, still fiddling with his sniper rifle, watching them with some interest. Since their discussion, Steve had not tried to cajole him into participating, but neither did he keep giving him anxious, worried looks. Instead, there was more of a calmness, of a look of a burden relieved within Steve.

He had felt the difference, especially whenever Steve placed a hand on his arm or back, or draped an arm across his shoulders in affection and reassurance. It felt lighter, not as concerned, and definitely more confident in making sure that he, Bucky, was all right. The hesitation and the tip-toeing that Steve did around him was gone – it was as if both of them had finally... clicked together again... like puzzle pieces after over seventy years of separation.

“Can't you guys just let me go with something cooler? Like Thor, from Norse Mythology?”

“Uh, no,” he heard Steve interject, shaking his head. “That... that might be taken, if the tesseract's existence here is anything to go by. In our reality, he's an Asgardian. They look like us humans, but they're not. Thor...I think he's at least a thousand or so years old, but he looks like he's perpetually in his thirties. He's tall, really well-built, and wields a hammer that can summon lightning and help him fly. I think he could've destroyed all of Greenwich and London if he really had to, the last time he and another alien had a grudge match on Earth. But he's a good ally and friend to have your back. So if he does exist here in this reality, then yeah... that call sign is taken. It's his actual name. Thor Odinson.”

“Fine,” Campbell said, looking slightly defeated. “I'll accept Sparky for this mission only. I'll come up with a better one next time.”

“Palpatine,” Barton suggested, causing Steve to bark in laughter. Bucky had no idea why the name was causing Steve to laugh, but it was a welcomed sound in his ears. “Three syllables, but due to the awesomeness, I would totally call you that over com.”

“No,” Campbell began, this time looking partially offended. Johnson was trying to hold back her laughter, but was not succeeding. Both Steve's counterpart and his counterpart had almost the same exasperated look on their faces while Reyes was merely shaking his head and grinning slightly. The doctor didn't get to protest any further as the com pieces in their ears crackled.

“Alpha and Bravo, you have a go,” the tinny voice of Carter stated over the line.

The Inhuman teleporter, Gordon, hurried over, as Bucky pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against, swapping out his sniper rifle for his regular rifle. He stopped next to the teleporter, just as he felt the Inhuman place a hand on his shoulder, bony strong grip and all. It was not ideal, but because of how much noise teleporting from place to place generated, they had to be transported in pairs.

Naturally, both Steve and Steve's counterpart had volunteered to go first. It was not just being protective of Steve that Bucky had stepped in and shot the idea down, it was practicality. He had pointed out that neither had vibranium shields, and should the initial teleport bring them straight into the heart of HYDRA soldiers within the silo, neither of them or Gordon would survive. That was especially true if HYDRA was shooting at them with the tesseract-based weapons.

Thus, he and Reyes would be first into the silo. He didn't know what the man who called himself or the entity within him Ghost Rider's abilities was, but the man had been quite confident in his abilities to dodge or block the tesseract weapons. If the coast was clear, then Gordon would bring the rest of the teams.

“See you on the other side,” he heard Reyes say and if it weren't for Gordon's grip on his shoulder, Bucky would have taken a very large step back and away from Reyes. Gone was the Hispanic-looking man, replacing his seemingly melted or turned-to-ash face with a skull. On fire.

He didn't even get to voice his shock as one moment, the halls of the underground base and the rest of the teams surrounded his vision, and the next, the familiar drab green-grey metal walls, ceiling, and floor appeared in front of him. Instinct overtook him as he immediately raised his rifle up, sighting through it and carefully took a few steps forward. He swept his rifle around, slowly, as he listened ever so carefully.

The clinking of chains from his right indicated that Ghost Rider, whatever the hell he was, was moving as well. Bucky ignored him for now, having a hunch that if HYDRA were to ambush Ghost Rider first, there would be plenty of noise to go with that. Where they had landed was the silo well or flame trench, the area where a missile's flames, along with the water that would flood and reduce acoustic vibrations of a launching missile would be. It was pristine looking, and there was no missile in place yet. It was also the place where he, Steve, and Stark had fought in their reality.

He quietly crept up to the lone thick wheeled hatchway in the area after scanning what he could see beyond the ceiling and into the shaft itself. Pressing his ears closely to the hatch, he couldn't hear anything beyond it, even though it was at least a few centimeters thick. He glanced back to see that Ghost Rider was also done with his initial sweep. He gestured towards the teleporting Inhuman, knowing that even with his eyes closed like a blind man, the Inhuman could somehow still see him.

The faint double _pop_ of the Inhuman teleporter leaving and reappearing several times indicated the rest of Alpha and Bravo arriving. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Steve silently appear to the left of him, his rifle pointed at the door. Shifting his rifle to his good hand, with a finger on the trigger, he gripped the handle of the wheel well with his metal hand. Carefully cranking the well until he heard the soft click of it, he saw Steve nod and yanked the hatch open.

~~~

Steve quickly swept the corners of the open hatch. Nothing jumped out at him, and he couldn't hear any footsteps beyond it. Stepping out, he edged forward and to the right, listening for any signs of any ambush or otherwise. Bucky shadowed him, and he knew that the others were following in their wake. Alpha was to take the left, and Bravo was to take the right.

It was a change from escaping the Camp Lehigh facility. Their pacing and footsteps told Steve that both Johnson and Campbell had picked up and learned how to muffle their footsteps on the metal floor. He could occasionally still hear the faint vibration of their feet on the floor, but it was definitely much quieter than before. At the intersection at the end of the dusty, cobweb-filled hall, he silently gestured with two fingers towards his right, while he and Bucky headed to the left.

They had to split up, even though he did not want to, especially not in a facility such as this. While not as large as the geothermal plant, it had many more levels, and a lot more areas where ambushes could easily happen. Still, splitting Bravo up into pairs was their best option, as Steve had a general idea of where exactly he and Bucky had been when the 0-8-4 had transported them.

Making his way down this new hall, he paused every so often, some of his own volition and others from Bucky's light tap on his shoulder, indicating that he had heard something unusual. The progress was slow, but it was necessary. They did not have any good SA on where the six super-soldiers were, and how many HYDRA operatives and soldiers were hidden within the facility. Finally, as he and Bucky stepped over another carefully opened and cleared hatch, he looked around the Y-intersection.

“Alpha, this is Bravo. 0-8-4 not in original transport area,” he whispered over com.

“Copy,” he heard his counterpart answer.

It was Bucky's tap on the side of his left arm this time that indicated the direction that they should head on the Y-intersection of halls. He knew where it led to, or at least what the schematics that Bucky had provided to SHIELD, indicated. It was the main area of the silo, the area where they had confronted Zemo, where they had found the five other Winter Soldiers, and where that damnable footage of the Winter Soldier killing Howard had torn them apart. It was also the most obvious place to look, and a most obvious trap. He wasn't sure what Bucky had in mind, but he was going to trust him on this one.

Stepping quietly down the left path, with his rifle still leading the way, Steve continued on, and as silent and ghost-like as ever, Bucky followed. The air was less stale, less foul as they continued on. However, it was Clint's quiet, “Alpha, Bravo, I see FitzSimmons in the main atrium,” that made Steve ever more wary.

With his senses alert and heightened by adrenaline, he looked around, straining to hear anything down the hall the two of them were traveling on. The presence of Bucky leaving him for a brief moment was felt, but he knew that he was just checking their six. There was a clear trap set in front of them, with HYDRA dangling Jemma Simmons as bait. He was determined to rescue her, but considering not only her willingness to infiltrate and give SHIELD a data point, Fitz's presence near her, and an unknown quantity in terms of where HYDRA soldiers were, he wasn't sure if any rescue plan was feasible.

Three super-soldiers, two Inhumans, one really terrifying flame-headed entity, and two extremely skilled operatives might've been enough for HYDRA in his reality, but when HYDRA fell, they were shooting bullets. HYDRA here had tesseract weapons. The eight of them were not an Avengers team, but they were SHIELD, and they had all vowed to keep the world safe.

With that thought in mind, he said into the com, “Spring the trap. Snipers take position. Clear the ground perimeter, and approach it from all sides. Priority is Simmons.” He would leave Fitz to the others, as the young man was not his problem to deal with, no matter how much he wanted to. Both Sharon and James had written Fitz off as a traitor, and the last time he had dealt with traitors in SHIELD, his world had imploded.

“Copy,” came the faint acknowledgment over the com.

Doubling back to where there was another hatch adjacent to the hall that he and Bucky had been traveling on, he cranked the wheel to the open postion and paused for a moment, listening to try to hear if there were any other soldiers within the shaft. Hearing nothing, he opened it, and waited until Bucky cleared it. As soon as Bucky began to climb up the ladder, he closed the hatch and secured it.

Quietly making his way back down, he picked up his pace as he winded his way through the hall. At another Y-intersection, he went right instead of left, knowing that the route down there was most likely covered by someone from Alpha. It was five minutes later, still eerily quiet, that he finally arrived at the edge of the area that opened up into atrium. Further down the curved space, and to his right a few yards, he saw Johnson, her right hand holding a pistol, and her left arm held up, hand splayed and ready to attack. To his left, about the same length was Stevie.

He caught her quick glance over at him, and he nodded. “Advance,” he heard Stevie whisper into the com.

Flitting from cover to cover, behind large tanks, thick bunches of horizontal pipes, Steve could see that the atrium had been converted to a laboratory of sorts. There were quite a number of tables, of consoles that looked like they were either from World War Two, and a lot of different kinds of disassembled weapons or beakers full of liquids. Occasionally, either Fitz or Simmons would move into his vision, carrying a material or a laptop with them. It didn't look like Simmons was under any duress, considering how concentrated of a look she had on her face when she held up a small vial of a purplish liquid.

“Nomad is in position,” he heard Bucky's curt murmur over com.

“Hawkeye as well,” came Clint's acknowledgment.

“Don't shoot. They're handling explosives,” Campbell immediately stated. “I can smell the fumes being pushed towards my position.”

“Copy, no shot,” Clint stated.

“Incoming,” Bucky said almost before Clint had finished acknowledging the fact that they had to be careful where they fired their weapons.

“Doctor,” he heard Madam Hydra, or AIDA as most of the others outside of the Framework called her. From the angle in which her voice echoed throughout the cavernous atrium, Steve had to estimate that she had entered from the main hatchway that led to the elevator shaft. “Are we ready?”

“Have they not held back the ground assault?” he heard Fitz ask in an irritated tone, as he saw Simmons pause in whatever she was doing.

There was a distressing expression on the young woman's face, and that was when he heard Stevie order, “Go for capture.”

The six of them, forming a sort of semi-circle, emerged from where they were hiding. They took quick, sure steps forward, sighting down their rifles. Steve made sure to keep his pointed at AIDA, who was closest to him. She was a few yards away from the consoles, tables, and explosive concoctions that surrounded Fitz and Simmons. “Hands up where we can see them!” he stated.

“Ah, SHIELD,” he heard Fitz state, looking quite unconcerned as both he and AIDA raising their hands up slowly. Simmons had done so as well, but only after placing the vial she had been holding down. At Stevie's wordless gesture with her chin, the young scientist put her hands down and hurried to them, looking incredibly relieved that help was here.

“I told you that we should have posted guards elsewhere, Ophelia,” Fitz stated in a condescending tone. “They would have sounded the alarm earlier.”

“Your suggestion was noted, Leopold,” AIDA said, nearly snapping her words in tight anger.

Steve didn't dare approach either of them, but a bad feeling began to crawl up his stomach. The explosives that Fitz and Simmons were working on looked to be half way done. The forces that were fighting above had been estimated to the best of their abilities, but where were the rest? Where were the six super-soldiers? Why had AIDA decided to come down alone with no bodyguard of the sort?

If there was one thing about the Doctor he knew from the Framework, it was that he had contingency plans. A trap, something that would spring out, attack, and delay them... and then it hit him: the Doctor had made himself the trap, the delay mechanism, the attacker, the one who was supposed to be left behind as bait. All to stop them--

“But I think my suggestion is still superior, Leopold,” AIDA stated, keeping her hands up, her monetary anger completely gone. “Witness.”

Steve's eyes widened as he found the LMD's ethereal green eyes resting on him for a brief moment. AIDA knew. She had somehow found out about the activation words. Even without her saying so, there was a look in her eyes; a hungry, cruel look in her eyes.

“Don't!” he warned, taking a step forward, his grip on his rifle tight, and right index finger resting against the trigger, ready to immediately put more pressure on it.

“желан\--” AIDA began.

Steve fired.

~~~

It was elegant, it was simple, and it perfectly round like a wedding band, except that it dripped ever so slightly red with the blood that trickled out of the head shot that Steve had made. Bucky didn't really care what the shot on AIDA looked like, as he felt the intense, almost blindingly painful pressure within his skull begin to lessen. The first word had nearly been stated, had nearly erased a part of him that he did not want to lose, had nearly sent him back on the path to becoming a souless and mindless monster.

He could feel himself breathing heavily, as he looked over the sniper's perch he had stationed himself at. The head shot had entered the forehead of the LMD in such a neat and concise manner, but the exit wound was anything but. He could see wires spurting out, mixed in with the flesh-like sinews, and fragments of white bone from the skull. A pool of dark red blood mixed with a film-like substance was rapidly forming and expanding around the LMD.

“Bucky... can you hear me?”

Steve's voice sounded so far away.

There was a moment's pause before he thought he heard Steve's counterpart say, “Nomad, report.”

“I can kind of see him through my scope. He looks all right,” he faintly heard the voice of Barton over the com. “A little peaky-looking, but I don't think he's physically injured.”

“Nice shot, Bravo, but what the hell was that about?” Johnson's voice was also quite faint over the com.

“Can it, Quake,” came the snapped order from his counterpart.

“You shouldn't have done that, Captain Rogers.” It was former SHIELD Agent Fitz's declaration, sounding as clear as a bell in this damnable place that finally snapped him out of the haze he had fallen into.

He blinked, pushing away the fog that had enveloped his mind and raised his sniper rifle again. Sighting through it, he leveled the center of cross hairs directly onto the young man. This time, there was no false barrier, no 'save him' plea getting in the way of him shooting the second-in-command of HYDRA. However, he had not been given the order yet, and despite his want to go rogue, he held himself still. His finger was still on the trigger though. It had been AIDA who had tried to turn him back, and tried to kill who he was – not Fitz.

Taking three deep breaths as he tried to continue to calm himself down, it was only a few seconds after he started the quick breathing exercise that he realized that it was not him who was shaking. The floor, the railing, the position he had taken up was _shaking_.

“Shit, incoming from three-o-clock!” Campbell yelled over com.

There was no ringing noise, no hollow shaking he associated with Johnson's powers being thrown about. The shaking was coming from somewhere else, and that somewhere else arrived in the form of a wave of HYDRA soldiers clad in black. It was just like the geothermal plant again, except this time, not one soldier waited to get into optimal firing range.

Bucky began to fire, just as the blue bolts began to lance from their weapons--

_Heartbeat—fire—fire—fire—_

_Targets scattering, cluster at—_

_Shift half degree down—heartbeat—fire—fire—fire—_

_Shift quarter degree left—heartbeat—aim—fire—fire._

_Reload._

Even as he put eight soldiers down in quick succession, it was not enough. Two stray bolts struck two different beakers, igniting the entire makeshift laboratory. Just as he ejected and slammed a new cartridge into his rifle, he ducked back, turning his head away as a mushroom of flames gouged up the many floors to the ceiling. The smell was incredibly acrid, and involuntary tears were forming in his eyes.

Still, he forced himself to return to position, to hope and look to see if the others down on the ground had survived—and they had. Remarkably, a sparking chain that was held together by tiny dots of electricity had created a barrier wall of sorts for Steve and the rest of the agents below. The SHIELD traitor, Fitz, had been snatched back by someone and was lying unconscious on the floor. As soon as the chained lightning shield dropped, and even before the flames had died down, he saw Ghost Rider stride through, as the black wave crashed through the ruined laboratory from other side.

_Targets clusters of three, aim for weapon power source—_

_Heartbeat—fi—_

“As I said before,” the booming voice of AIDA, of the android or LMD or whatever artificial construct it was, sounded over the din, causing him to pause in his shot with the current cartridge he had. “Witness.”

She couldn't be alive. Steve had nearly point blank shot her without remorse. There was an elegant little hole in the middle of her forehead. There was a pool of blood surrounding her. She was lying still, she was dead, and she--

He immediately swung his rifle from the horde that had reached those below and saw the artificial being casually walking into the atrium as her soldiers of black streamed past her. She was dressed in flowing grey clothes, but there was no mistaking it – her hair, her eyes, the shape of her face, it definitely was AIDA. She had somehow made a physical copy of herself. He fired his rifle, but even the armor-piercing round was ineffective.

Faster than he thought possible, _someone_ stepped in front of the trajectory of the bullet and the copy of the LMD. A second shot came from the other side, from Barton. That too was miraculously blocked by the same person who had blocked his initial shot.

He gritted his teeth. That someone was one of the five he had trained – Michael – and he _remembered_ him. Brutal in his application of martial arts, and even more muscular and physically powerful than him after he had been augmented, Bucky knew that he had been extremely lucky that Michael had been occupied in killing the observing scientists and guards when the five had rebelled. By rights, he knew that he should have been killed that day by either Michael or Katherine. And now, it seemed that the operative had been augmented further with either bulletproof skin or otherwise.

“желание,” he heard AIDA simply state.

It felt as if someone had set a grenade off in his head and told his brain to curl around it to keep it contained. He couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything as fireworks of colors seemingly burst like stars behind the darkness that had overtaken his vision. He could feel something slipping away from him, something that he knew he should have remembered – the isolation? The deprivation of light? The needles that had been pressed into him? The fiery sensations that caused him pain? The burst of happiness and relief at seeing...who? Someone rescuing him?

_...all he could do now was survive, because he longed to live..._

~~~

The sound was excruciating to hear, both over the com and searing through the noise of gunfire and explosions, but it was still heard. Steve couldn't even tell if it was just a raw scream or actual words, but it didn't matter. He fired off another short burst from his rifle and as it clattered empty, he unhooked it and swung it around like a bolo. The speed of his swing deflected two blue bolts, and as he let it go, it crashed and sent the nearest soldier knocked down and back.

“ржaвый.”

Smoothly drawing his pistol, he fired off a rapid clatter of shots before running in and began to punch the soldiers as hard as he could. Left-right, and uppercut here, another one there, he kicked another who tried to bring his weapon to bear on him. Two leaping steps brought him up and quickly down on the three who had been knocked back by the kick. He couldn't waste time, couldn't range shot and kill the soldiers. He had to get through the horde, get to the copy of AIDA, who was surrounded by the six super-soldiers.

He had to stop her—he did not want to lose Bucky again.

“семнадцать.”

“Stop it!” he yelled, looking up ever so briefly, furiously glaring at AIDA and the stoic statues of the six that surrounded her.

Merciless eyes stared back at him.

~~~

“рассвет.”

_...daybreak had arrived..._

It was not working. Whatever Rogers—Steve—he couldn't concentrate, much less quell the searing agony that lanced through his mind—whatever those below were doing—

_We take it day by day..._

He had made a promise, it felt recent, but he had made a promise nonetheless—

_We see where this goes..._

“Печь.”

_...carry a frozen body, child or adult..._

He could hear himself screaming, shouting for whomever was saying those words that tore at him like knife through flesh to stop. The fog, the haze, the startling green eyes that malevolently stared at him... he had to stop it himself. He had to run, and he could feel the metal floor pounding beneath his boots—the wildfire that burned in his mind, engulfing him.

A gentle touch on his back, to soothe or heal his recent wounds and give him physical comfort, another memory torn away—

_Forward and together..._

“девять.”

_...his eyes were doing that searching look again..._

Who? He didn't remember, couldn't remember. He couldn't see through the fever of red as he leapt from the edge, combat knife in each hand. His target was not Rogers—Steve—Rogers—promise-—Steve—

_I'm with you, until the end of the line._

Bucky snapped open his eyes, and for one moment of clarity, one moment through the enormous fog of searing pain that had swallowed him, he saw his target. It was suicide, but he _remembered_ saying to someone that he would rather die than wake up and find out that he had completed his mission. He would rather plunge into the heart of the six super-soldiers protecting AIDA, kill her, and be torn apart by them, than allow the Winter Soldier to ever surface again.

~~~

“No!”

Steve had been so engulfed, so tunneled into carving a path to where AIDA was, that it was Stevie's cry of denial that woke him up from the fugue that gripped him. He echoed the denial as kicked another soldier square in her chest, breaking the tesseract weapon as well, just as he saw Bucky in the midst of his flying leap through the air, knives in his hands poised like talons of an eagle, plunge into the heart of where AIDA and her six soldiers were.

“Bucky!” he screamed, seeing him disappear into the group.

At once, he was immediately jerked forward, stumbling, tripping, and nearly falling were it not for him snatching up an unbroken tesseract weapon from a soldier who was yanked back. He stabbed it into the ground, into the bodies that had fallen around him, to stop himself. Every soldier who stood before him was yanked backwards in the same direction as he had been going forward, as a loud, almost thunderous _pop!_ eclipsed even the sound of gunfire. He blinked once: the six soldiers, AIDA, and Bucky were gone.

All that remained of where they had been was a gaping hole within the sea of black.

“добросердечный.”

AIDA's voice echoed across the atrium as Steve resumed punching and kicking the soldiers, throwing them back and overhead before taking the rifle that he had snatched away and began firing. He didn't care anymore, whether or not the soldiers lived or died. HYDRA had hurt Bucky one too many times, and this time was going to be the last. He was not going to let them take him away from him, so help anyone who got in his way--

“Go! We got this!”

James' voice blasting across his ears was jarring, but it was enough to propel him out of the red haze of white-hot rage that had wrapped around him. It felt like a vice around his heart had been partially broken, but not shattered, as he continued to hear him say, “Quake, boost them!”

“Batter up!”

That was the only warning Steve got as a hollow ringing sound surrounded him, and he found himself flying up and away from the sea of black. Just as he reached the apex, he scrambled and reached out. Clamping a hand onto the railing high above where he had been fighting, it bent slightly with his weight, as he glanced over to see Stevie had been sent soaring as well with Johnson's powers. She too had managed to latch onto a railing, and together they hauled themselves over.

“возвращение на родину.”

He discarded the tesseract rifle, as he had a hunch that it would be completely useless, and ran as fast as he could with his counterpart beside him, through the area within the silo. They dodged and weaved around tanks, pipes. Occasionally when it would waste precious seconds, smashed through said tanks and walls. Steve could feel tiny amounts of shrapnel cut into his exposed flesh or where his uniform had not been fully repaired, but he ignored it. They had to get to Bucky; they had to stop AIDA before she could fully wipe Bucky back to a blank slate and reactivate the Winter Soldier.

Their run through the empty upper levels ended abruptly as they came to the edge of the end of the silo. Below was a steep sloping walkway down, towards a section that he did not remember seeing in the schematics that had been provided during the briefing. A chasm below the lone walkway stared back up at them. They couldn't stop though, as he and Stevie vaulted over the railings and fell twenty feet to the walkway.

Rolling forward with the impact, Steve could feel the walkway shake with his and his counterpart's hard landings. As jarring and briefly painful as it was to land on such a hard surface, he shook it off and continued to run. They crossed the walkway and into a long tunnel with a speck of light at the end of it.

“один.”

He could hear AIDA's voice echo in the tunnel; plain, monotone, and commanding. There was no sound coming from Bucky, not even through the com. As soon as he had been teleported by one of the six, Bucky had immediately fell silent. Steve feared the worst – that even the words said had already ripped and erased the memories that Bucky had regained – that his best friend, the only one left of those he loved, was gone.

He had made a promise to Bucky.

He knew that he had promised to stop him again, and even as angry as he was, even as the white-hot anger had cooled to an ocean of cold fury, he could feel a different kind of pain stab at him. Steve had promised to stop him – to stop him from hurting people again. He had made that promise, thinking, hoping, praying, that it would never be invoked, never be collected; that when they returned to their reality, no one would be able to find them and exploit Bucky.

“We'll get him back,” he heard Stevie determinedly say, just as they approached the end of the tunnel.

Sprinting out of there, he squinted for a second, allowing his eyes to quickly adjust to the cavernous space that they had arrived in before skidding to a stop. To their right, far and away was a strange-looking, ten-foot high oval-shaped portal that crackled blue and black in color. Both he and his counterpart had halted before they could run right into the six super-soldiers. The six were standing in loose line formation, as if they had been expecting them to show up, with center most and closest to them being Natasha. Behind the staggered line was AIDA, and standing just slightly behind and to her left was Bucky.

Bucky's eyes... his eyes that hid so much from him since they had been reunited, yet showered him with hope whenever Steve saw a glimmer of emotion, of a reaction, from him. They were blank – they were utterly blank – and he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces within him; unable to look away as the last lock that contained the Winter Soldier, the last command, was spoken.

“грузовой\--”

 

~*~*~*~

 


	20. Memory: грузовой вагон

 

_**Begin Memory:** _ _**грузовой** _ _**вагон** _

_Year:_ _1945, estimated, no additional fragments_

_Date: January, no additional fragments_

_Time: Unknown, no additional fragments_

_Location: Swiss Alps, no additional fragments_

 

Bucky was certain, as certain as the snow would never melt at this altitude, that he had just heard Steve openly lie for the first time. Yeah, sure it wouldn't be exactly like the Cyclone, but he knew that Steve always glared at the infernal ride after that first and only time he had ridden it, whenever they went to Coney Island. Bucky was quite sure that being tasked to perform the rappel down to a fast moving train with hundreds of feet drop below them was also revenge for the times in which he tried to make Steve do some idiotically stupid stuff with him.

But he would do anything Steve asked of him in a heartbeat, no matter how crazy it was. Steve had his back, and he had Steve's back. Nothing was going to stop them, not even the bitterly cold wind that nearly tried to blow them off the ledge the Commandos were situated at. It made the rappel line that they had shot across the ravine earlier swing this way and that, but Bucky squashed the fear from his mind, as he heard Steve give the go order.

He snapped up his pulley that had a single hanger, bearer, and handbar carrier. As soon as Steve cleared the edge, zipping down to the train, he launched himself off of the cliff. The rush of the bitingly cold wind slapped at him, but the top of the train was already coming up in his vision. He let go and landed on the train, driving himself as close to the roof of the car he had landed on as possible to get his balance.

He didn't need a lot of time to adjust, as he was already rising, following Steve forward, ducking slightly as he raised his arm to block the whipping wind from his face. Jones was following closely behind, the only other Commando willing to go with Steve and do this crazy stunt of landing on a train in the middle of winter, in the Swiss Alps.

Jones continued forward as per the plan to stop the train from advancing any further along its Alps route. It had also been unsaid and unspoken that he knew Steve had deliberately made sure that he, Bucky, was a part of the team to secure Zola. He was grateful to Steve for that, and as much as he wanted Zola to pay for what he had done to him, he knew that the chief scientist of HYDRA had valuable information. He would let the brass extract that information first before requesting that something be done to the scientist – to make Zola pay for the crimes he had committed.

Climbing down and into the opened door after Steve, his hackles were immediately raised as the door swished closed. It was too quiet and too empty to be a passenger train, much less a freight train – as evident in the stacked boxes situated on either side of the current car and down the center. Wherever Zola was, this current situation that he and Steve had run into smelled of a trap. He just hoped that Jones was careful in his attempt to get to the engine room.

Raising his rifle, he panned it around, checking their six as Steve took point, moving forward slowly towards the opening between the current car and the next. Steve's shield was leading the way, but Bucky could see the tight grip he had on his sidearm. He glanced back again, the uneasy feeling in his stomach growing as he strained to try to hear anything unusual over the unusually muffled sounds of the train swiftly moving over the winding rails. Still, there was nothing, but just as he turned back to follow Steve through the gapway and to the next car, the door between the cars suddenly closed.

He caught a glimpse of Steve's startled expression through the window on the door, but didn't have time to even process it as he heard the door on the other side of the car he was trapped in open. He immediately began firing short bursts from his rifle, ducking to his right and flinching as stinging hot ricochet from the bullets shot by the black-clad, masked soldiers peppered the wall behind him.

He fired off another burst from his rifle, right into the center of the foremost HYDRA soldier who had been advancing to the right corridor, before ducking behind a bunch of crates. The soldier fell, and as he ejected the current cartridge and slammed in a new one, he readied the rifle and peeked out, firing off another burst. The soldier was kept at bay only just, as he ducked back into cover for a moment, raising his left arm slightly to try to shield his face from the bullet sparks.

At another pause, he leaned out again, quicker and managed to sight down and fire another burst— _shit!_ The cartridge had jammed. It must have been still too cold from their cliff side position or their approach on the roof – it didn't matter. Dropping the rifle, he pulled out his pistol and fired off several shots – missing all of his target as the soldier turtled behind a stack of crates. He briefly ducked back into cover, just as he saw another soldier step through the other end of the connecting cars.

It was now or never, and as he gritted his teeth, he took the risk and stood up, firing more shots, moving laterally to his left. He got lucky, as his shots downed the soldier who had just stepped in. Taking cover again behind another stack of crates, he waited until the burst of gunfire died, and popped back out again. Trading gunfire again, he silently cursed to himself as his pistol unexpectedly ran empty. It was one of the standard-issued ones given to infantrymen and he had taken both the wrong gun and cartridges from Howard's cache with him.

The lone soldier was advancing and it didn't sound like that that soldier was going to run out of bullets anytime soon. He could remain here, waiting for the inevitable, or he could--

The sound of the door on this end of the car swishing open caused him to look up in surprise. Steve had somehow managed to get it open, and didn't waste time as he tossed him his sidearm. Bucky immediately grabbed it, swung up from where he had been taking cover, just as Steve charged forward, shield leading the way. Steve shoved into a long and large crate to the right, forcing the elusive and really annoyingly evasive HYDRA soldier to duck left to avoid being rammed.

Bucky fired once, downing the soldier with a head shot.

Silence once again, fell upon the cars, as he glanced over at Steve, with a ghost of a smile on his face in silent thanks. He was a little annoyed though, that Steve had intervened in his fight. It was an unspoken code between the two of them since childhood – neither would interfere in each other's fights unless it was absolutely necessary. To be honest with himself though, he knew that he had intervened many times on behalf of Steve – Steve had been skinny and short back then – but that still didn't mean that Steve had to interfere now--

“I had him on the ropes,” he said, just as Steve came over to admire the handiwork of a perfect head shot with a pistol.

Before Steve could even open his mouth to attempt to retort, both of them heard the familiar rising whine of the unusual weapons that HYDRA had deployed, behind them. “Get down!” Steve shouted.

He saw Steve bring up his shield, just as the dual, glowing blue, cannon-like weapons fire. The shot reflected off of the vibranium shield was incredibly powerful – enough that he couldn't even shout Steve's name in horror as he was pushed back by the impact of the weapon against the shield, with his breath temporarily leaving him. Steve had slammed into the opposite wall, stunned and knocked out.

Even worse was that the deflection had ripped a hole on the right side of the car, peeling away the metal like a tin of cat food. Cold, blinding snow, and bitterly rough winds filled the car, but he managed to recover quickly and scrambled up to pick up the dropped shield. Holding the shield in his left arm, he fired rapidly at the HYDRA soldier. Either he was dizzier from the impact, or the bullets from the pistol were not piercing the unusual armor that the soldier had put on; he immediately turtled just as the whine reached its apex.

It felt like he had been punched in the gut as he felt himself flying, as he thought he heard Steve yell, “No!”

His trajectory though, was not towards the other end of the car, but out. Scrambling for purchase, he managed to snag onto the wobbly and dangerously loose rail still clinging onto the peeled sidewall of the freight car. He grunted with the impact, his left arm shooting with pain from having the shield ripped away from him.

Bucky tried to edge back towards the safer, much more robust-looking railing, trying not to look down at just how perilously high he was, clinging to the edge. The wind whipped at him, mercilessly teasing him with the thought of gusting and blowing him and the precarious railing he held onto, into the ravine below. He determinedly looked up, refusing to look down, as he squinted and tried to see what was happening inside of the car.

It was useless though, but a moment later, he saw Steve emerge, clinging onto the edge of the ripped sidewall. “Bucky! Hang on!” he heard Steve shout.

He wanted to retort with 'what else am I going to do', but the ice-cold wind was already making him extremely parched, and the loose rail he clung onto ever more shaky. He tried to move, tried to edge up some more, but every single inch he tried to claim towards him made the rail even looser. Steve tried to reach out towards him, and even though he wanted to tell him not to, he knew that he needed the help. He couldn't get back in, couldn't reach towards the more stable railing that he saw Steve cling to, without help.

“Grab my hand!” Steve yelled, reaching out a little further.

_...with you until the end of the line... until the end of the line... end of the line... with you..._

The mantra droned in his mind, and he knew that he had to take it – a leap of faith, of hope, of love, and of the longing to live, to make sure that he continued to be there to protect Steve. He had to be there, by Steve's side, had to keep the promise he had made to himself, to make sure that the regret that he had burnt last November remained as so. The railing was rickety, looser than a moment ago; his hands frozen and slowly slipping; and the wind laughing its unbearably cold howls of laughter at him – he had to try.

He reached towards Steve's outstretched hand—

 

_**End Memory:** _ _**грузовой вагон** _

 

~*~*~*~

 


	21. A Million Shards Falling

 

**Chapter 11: A Million Shards Falling**

 

A million shards of memories falling.

Steve could only imagine that it was similar to snow, how it coldly kissed his warm skin for a moment before melting and fading away. Why his own memories briefly hearkened back to the first time his mother had allowed him to go out and play during the winter was puzzling, but it had been one of the happiest times of his life. Bucky had taught him how to make snowballs, how it felt to be hit by one and to lob one perfectly at a dummy target, how to make snow angels, how to enjoy actual fresh snow cones with the bottle of the Coca-Cola syrup he had been saving since the summer – it had been an actual day of fun. It had been the only day in which Steve could remember that he had either not been ill or ended up fighting bullies.

He remembered, but for Bucky... he could only imagine that it was a fragment in a million pieces of memories, lost again in the blizzard, the howling winds of the Alps, the ice-cold plunge into the river that ran within that ravine—

“грузовой—”

_Snap-crack!_

The gruesome sound echoed loudly in the cavernous hall, but even more visceral was the motion that had accompanied the noise. Steve thought he had been prepared – he had seen countless of fellow soldiers killed next to him, in front of him, blown to pieces, had even killed HYDRA soldiers with his own hands as well; had seen the dead and sometimes dismembered dead bodies – but he was wrong. Blood drained from his face for just a moment as he saw the impossible: the horrific snap-twist, tearing of skin, artificial sinew and muscles, even what constituted as a spine, and wrenching of AIDA's head from her body.

Worse yet was not the brief spray of blood and oil gushing out that splattered not only her killer, but also at least Natasha and one of the other Winter Soldiers standing before him and Stevie. It was the fact that Bucky had done that so quickly, so swiftly – cutting off the last command – that was the worst part. The head of AIDA, so life-like even with several wires hanging off from the neck, was gripped tightly in the metal hand of Bucky for just a moment before it was unceremoniously tossed to the side – discarded like trash.

Steve's heart was supposed to be soaring with joy, with the fact that Bucky managed to break the conditioning the words buried within his subconscious had done, but it didn't.

Whether it was instinct or something else that drove him, he snapped out of that brief moment of horror the moment he saw Natasha begin to react. He launched himself straight at her, attempting to tackle her, but only managed to succeed in snagging her right wrist and wrenching her a little ways away from the group as she turned towards him faster than he anticipated. He skidded to the floor, slipping through the rapidly expanding pool of blood and oil. Rolling up and away with the momentum, he was only just so lucky in the movement as her steel booted heel smashed onto the floor where his head had been, creating a small crater where it had landed.

He did not get far enough though, as a rock-solid punch smashed into his left side, sending an intense jolt of pain through him. It drove him into the ground again, as he caught a glimpse of his other attacker – a really muscular man who was definitely taller than he was – Michael as he remembered from the dossier picture in the Framework. He managed to force himself to get up, to flip and lash out mid-flip to kick at the man. He hit something solid, but all that caused was excruciating pain to lance up his foot as he landed again.

With his fists held up before him, he managed to dodge to his left, as he felt the breeze of the left hook from Michael breeze by him. It didn't even look like his initial kick had done any damage – Michael must have been the one who deflected two sniper bullets. Instinct screamed at him again as he whirled around, using the dodging motion to help his momentum to avoid the snapping roundhouse kick coming from Natasha. That left his back exposed for a moment though, as stars and black spots exploded in his eyes from the iron fist that drove into his back.

His breath, even his yelp was cut off as he lost his balance for a moment and found himself short of breath. It was not enough though, to completely send him back to the floor, as he shunted as much of the pain aside, blocking Natasha's whirling kick at him with his forearms. It stung, but it was incomparable to what he had just experienced. She was fast, and his other opponent was slow, forcing him on the defensive as he tried to get a read on where they were going to strike.

Natasha drove a series of lightning quick punches – left, right, an uppercut or two – similar to what he had seen her do before in his reality during their sparring sessions, forcing him to step back as their impact against him were much more powerful. It was a feint that he saw only at the last minute, as he wrenched himself out of the way and to his right, just as Michael lunged in with a leap up and attempt to strike down over his head.

The taller man's strike was unexpectedly arrested before he could hit the ground. A long silver chain suddenly wrapped itself several times around the leading fist and arm. Steve only had a brief moment to look back towards where the chain was coming from and saw Ghost Rider forcibly yank the chain back. He ducked and rolled further to the right, spinning back up on his knees. He turned back just in time to raise his arms and cross it over his head, blocking Natasha's attempt to strike at him to prevent him from getting back up.

The force of her leg strike was jarring, and it sent a painful tremor down his arms and through his body. Clenching his teeth, he heaved and twisted his right arm towards his left, while bringing his left down, wrenching the hold he had on her leg downwards. She was much too nimble for that though, as expected, but not fast enough to completely dodge his sudden push off the floor. Slamming bodily into her, he knocked her to the ground.

The floor around him wasn't as solid as he had hoped though, as he felt air suddenly rush by him, along with the sensation of free falling. She had teleported both of them elsewhere, though just as that thought crossed his mind, he clenched his right hand around the fabric of her uniform. Even as he fell, he pulled her towards him, using all of his strength to keep her near him. She attempted to kick him away, punching his right arm hard enough that he could feel a blinding shot of pain shoot through his forearm bones with the fracture she had managed to induce.

He ignored it as best as possible though, and managed to strike and wrap his left hand around her right wrist. The flip-flopping sensation of his stomach doing somersaults was suddenly arrested as both of them slammed into the ground. Hissing as his stomach and all the way up his right side flared in pain, he kept holding on though, determined to not let her go and let her take advantage of her Inhuman power.

They teleported again – a nauseous feeling pushing at him – as she slammed him into walls, into the ground, free falling again before smashing him into several tanks and pipes in an attempt to get him to let her go. Shrapnel dug into him, and he could feel blood trickling down the numerous scrapes and cuts he was receiving. Each time she tried to twist herself out of his hold, he tightened it, and finally, the moment she slammed both of them into a wall again, he pushed off the concrete and metal-flecked wall or floor, it didn't matter at the moment.

He whirled up and over to his right and spun her as if he would spin his dance partner. She was nimble in attempting to evade, and attempted to continue the momentum. He let his right hand go that had been clinging onto her uniform. Just as she lashed out in a spinning kick, he dropped himself into a crouch, and completely unbalanced her. As she toppled over to his right, he lashed out and grabbed her by the neck, slamming her into the ground. Her eyes rolled ever so slightly, indicating that she had been dazed by the impact. Making sure that her right arm was stretched out by his left hand so that she did not have the power to curl back onto herself--

They were free-falling again, and as he scrambled to recover the pinning grip that he had. She was faster though, and a blinding, searing pain shot up his arm and across his chest as she kicked him hard on his right side, into his outstretched right arm. His entire arm went numb, and the shock of the blow forced his right hand to open, as he he yelled in pain. Blearily through involuntary tears, he could see the ground rushing up towards both of them—and the ground suddenly flying sideways towards his right.

He slammed into the metal wall with enough force to leave him seeing a massive amount of black spots as he tried to get out of the crater that had formed with his impact. He forcibly coughed as his breath was suddenly driven out of him, accompanied by the sharp, stabbing pain of Natasha's knee driving into his stomach. His vision was thrown further sideways as her two-punch fist pummeled his head left and right. The pressure of her weight upon him was alleviated for a split second before she rammed into him again, teleporting and falling from high to get the maximum speed. He could feel something inside of him crack, break, and give way.

His breaths became sharp, and even sharper and more difficult for him to breathe as she kept kicking and driving her fists into him. Every time she teleported away to gain more momentum to drive him further into the wall, he tried to force himself to move, but she was much too fast in the application of her teleportation ability--

At once, something silver briefly crossed his vision, and suddenly Natasha was gone. Through his good right eye and blurred left one, Steve saw her fly up and away, bodily thrown with one hand – the silver hand – by Bucky. Bucky was not done yet as Steve tried to extricate himself from the human-form crater in the wall, as he saw him stalk forward, just as he thought he heard a faint _pop!_ across the cavernous hall.

Natasha appeared in between the two of them though, but faster than Steve thought he had ever seen Bucky move – even faster than the last time Steve had fought the Winter Soldier – he saw him turn, lash out like a viper and strike. Silver fingers wrapped tightly around Natasha's neck, but even as the two teleported away, Steve saw the after image of Bucky moving to put her in a tighter hold – not to asphyxiate her, but to snap her neck. Two bodies were already lying a ways away, necks bent at an unnatural angle. Nicholas and Alexander, the names and appearances that he remembered from the dossiers as well – two super-soldiers trained by the Winter Soldier – were dead by Bucky's hand.

Trying to breathe was incredibly painful as it felt like scissors were being stabbed into his chest with each breathe he tried to take. Natasha must have broken quite a few ribs, as he felt things inside of him move that were not supposed to be moving. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself off and out of the man-made crater, just as he heard a hollow-ringing sound echo throughout the chamber.

He blinked, trying to clear his eyes further as he heard a ear-piercingly awful scream shatter the air. Even as he finally clambered out of the deep crater, his eyes were already riveted to where the scream had come from – near the strange looking black-blue crackling portal. Ghost Rider had wrapped his chain around Michael and fire had searingly shot through that chain. The bulletproof skin that the augmented Soviet super-soldier had, seemed like it was no match for whatever hellfire Ghost Rider unleashed.

Steve tore his eyes away from the sight, and tried to hurry to where Stevie was still fighting the final two super-soldiers from the dossiers: Katherine and Andrew. He could only manage a hobbling run though, as whatever injuries Natasha had inflicted on him were graver than he had initially thought. He nearly collapsed from the overwhelming pain, but forced himself to continue to move. Even before he made it half-way across towards Stevie, a gloriously sweet sound – hollow-ringing – sang through the air.

The semi-transparent super-soldier, Katherine, whom was attempting to phase out enough to drive a transparent fist into Stevie, was suddenly blown back. He continued forward, clutching at his side, as he saw Johnson run into the chamber. The semi-transparent super-soldier struggled to get up, but Johnson was not done yet. She lifted both arms and blasted the woman back and into a wall, pinning her there as Natasha had tried to do to him. He could see Katherine begin to phase in and out uncontrollably. Just as the ringing noise from Johnson's earthquake powers began to take on a different tone, the super-soldier suddenly slumped over.

A feeling of shame swept over Steve as he saw the barest of a few rivulets of blood slide down the wall before the female super-soldier dropped to the ground. Katherine had been violently shaken apart, with Johnson most likely tuned into the frequency in which the super-soldier's Inhuman phasing abilities had come from. He hadn't even tried to stop Johnson from killing her; to shout to the Inhuman agent even with his difficulty in drawing breath.

A faint crunching sound drew his eyes away from Johnson and the dead woman, as he saw his counterpart slam the final five of the Soviet super-soldiers' face into the floor. She let go of the dead man's hair and slowly stood up. She was bleeding from numerous injuries and had immediately pressed a hand towards her leg – trying to stymie the blood flow from that particular injury. He made his way towards her, but it was a faint _pop!_ followed by a _snap-crack!_ sound nearly above him that had him pause and backtrack as quickly as he could.

Bucky and Natasha fell, as he looked up to see Bucky forcibly kick Natasha away, landing on the floor with a jarring amount of force, arms and hands splayed to absorb the impact. Natasha slammed into the far wall, and collapsed into a heap on the ground, just as the rest of Strike Alpha and Bravo entered, weapons raised and ready to fire. From what he could see of Natasha's crumpled form, her neck had been snapped and wrenched at an unnatural angle as well.

His eyes focused back on Bucky, hearing him get up. Bucky's eyes were hooded, his sweat and blood-soaked hair hanging like a shredded curtain in front of his face. “Bucky...” he began, removing his hand from his side and reached out. He dared not move forward though – reading wariness, aggression, and complete hostility in Bucky's stance.

“Stand down, soldier!” he heard James order.

He glanced over to see that James had picked up Bucky's sniper rifle from the silo, and had it pointed right at Bucky's head. “Don't shoot!” he said, raising his other hand up, knowing that it was a completely useless gesture to even try to ward off the armor-piercing round within that sniper rifle.

_...just be prepared to stop me again..._

Steve had promised. He was the closest to him in this chamber, and he had promised to stop him. The ten words had not been said, Bucky had managed to fight the programming, and all Steve could focus on at the moment was the fact that he had seen him mercilessly kill three super-soldiers and one android. One word away from being unlocked couldn't have completely unleashed the Winter Soldier, could it? Focusing back on Bucky, he took a cautious step forward, but immediately reversed it as Bucky's head snapped up.

Those eyes of his – they were still blank.

“Don't make me do this, Bucky,” he softly pleaded, hoping that his words were somehow getting through. “Please don't--”

The clinking of chains suddenly and swiftly wrapping several revolutions around Bucky's metal arm cut off whatever else he was going to say. “Stop!” he managed to shout, looking up and beyond Bucky to see Ghost Rider pulling the chain taut. It was too late though, as Ghost Rider's hellish flames swept up the chain. Despite the haze of intense pain, despite his injuries, Steve leapt towards Bucky, towards the chain to somehow break it, as he heard him scream in agony.

His leap was for naught though, as he landed painfully on the ground, the chain and searing heat disappearing before he could throw himself at it. Grunting in pain, he forced himself to get up. “Shit!” Reyes cursed as Steve looked up to see Ghost Rider fade away and the man approach. “I am so, so sorry. I don't know why--”

“Stay away from him!”

It came out more viciously than he had intended, stopping not only Reyes in his tracks, but the others as well. Steve didn't feel as much remorse as he knew he should have though, as he turned and knelt down, ignoring his own body's protests from the recent actions he had taken. He resolutely returned his attention to Bucky. The acrid scent of burnt metal was overwhelming, as the smoke wafted up from what little was left of Bucky's metal arm.

Hesitatingly and with some fear, he reached out towards Bucky, trying to stop his hand from shaking. Bucky's eyes were closed, but his labored breaths were indicating that he was somewhat awake, possibly aware of what was going on, but in a lot of pain. He placed his shaking hand on the sweat and blood-matted hair of Bucky, brushing a lock away, and saw him briefly open his eyes, eyelids fluttering in his attempt to stay awake. The blankness in them was gone, but there was a lot of confusion swimming in his eyes. Steve lifted his hand a little and moved it away just as those eyes flicked towards him.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, almost whispering the question.

Silence answered him for a few moments before he heard him croak, “You're Steve. I saw your name in a museum.” A groan escaped Bucky's lips, “Your mother's name is Sarah. You used to put newspapers in your shoes.” Steve saw him hesitate, still in a lot of pain but eyebrows furrowing for a moment before hearing him say, “AIDA... she... she tried to reactivate me... I think you tried to help me? What...happened?”

“It's going to be all right, Bucky,” he murmured, trying his damnest not to cry in both despair and in happiness at the same time. He didn't know the extent of the mental damage, the fragmentation of Bucky's memories, but it seemed that because the last activation word had not been fully stated, Bucky had retained some of his memories. To what extent, he didn't know, but it was enough for him – enough to let him know that he had not completely lost him.

“Steve,” he heard his counterpart say, and looked up to see her slowly approach, still pressing a hand to the wound on her leg.

“I'm... sorry,” he said, before glancing back down. Despite his injuries, he reached out and bent down to reach for and slip Bucky's arm across his shoulders. It was Campbell who hurried over and helped both him and Stevie lift Bucky up so that he was somewhat standing, but mostly leaning against him. Steve could hear Bucky wheezing slightly, and thought that he must have sustained a bruised or broken rib or two as well.

“Neither of you shouldn't be doing this, sir and ma'am,” Campbell stated, but did not attempt to take Bucky from him. Instead, he saw the doctor turn slightly, gesturing for James to approach.

“Sorry for doing that, Steve,” he heard him apologize as he saw him slip under and help Stevie stand so that she didn't have to put weight on her injured leg. He saw Stevie give James an indecipherable look, and though it looked as if James wanted to say something else, he kept his mouth shut.

Steve didn't answer, and instead, turned slightly, shifting his grip on Bucky, as he stared at the crackling portal. “Our way home?”

“It will remain,” Stevie said, as Clint approached, prodding the bound, but not gagged Fitz with his rifle forward. Simmons followed in their wake, pistol out but pointed to the ground. Johnson and Reyes were also approaching, but Reyes kept his distance, while Johnson went over to make doubly sure that Black Widow was dead.

“Both of you need to heal first,” Stevie continued. “We're not sending you home the way I first found you two. We'll make sure that portal stays where it is and that no one else goes through it.”

“Clint, take point,” he heard James order. “Scout out and secure the area--”

“Carter just reported that HYDRA forces topside surrendered a few minutes ago,” Clint stated, tapping his ear that held the earpiece connecting them through a secured channel. “She said that three-quarters of the forces just kind of 'shut down', like robots or something. A few minutes after that, the rest of HYDRA outside surrendered. They're still examining the bodies, but they all look human. There's a chip of sorts embedded on the side of their heads, under hair--”

“There's a chip that links the control system and actions of the soldiers to Madam Hydra,” Fitz unexpectedly spoke up, his tone even, almost haughty despite being a prisoner of SHIELD. “When she died, they 'died' as well.” Steve saw him glance up, eyes focused on James and Stevie as he said, “You both really did believe that the Framework was HYDRA's only brainwashing program? That it was the only way they could control people, didn't you?”

Before either could answer, Steve saw Fitz's lips twitch up ever so slightly in a sardonic smile, as he continued to say, “The people were more rebellious, more unaccepting of a virtual system that forced doctrine down their throats. Most were able to be controlled once they spent enough time within the Framework, but there were always a few from each batch who needed that extra touch.”

“Clint,” he heard Stevie simply state, the silent order to gag the second-in-command of HYDRA, unstated.

“Ma'am, sirs,” Johnson interrupted before Clint could take a ripped piece of cloth from somewhere and wrap it around and over Fitz's mouth. Steve looked over and saw her gingerly turning the body over, looking quite pale, before saying, “she's has a chip. Base of her skull.”

“This one as well,” he heard Reyes say, and glanced over to see him nudging one of the other bodies of the super-soldiers.

“But they didn't 'die', when the second copy of AIDA was killed,” he heard Stevie say, as Steve saw her glance over towards Fitz.

“No, but they were difficult to control, even after they had been woken up,” Fitz stated, giving them a mirthless smile. “Extra control and care had to be taken, especially when augmenting them with their enhanced abilities. Thanks to Dr. Simmons here, the formula was perfected.”

“Which you did not have to use, Fitz!” Simmons said, looking quite distraught, as Campbell stepped away and went to where Johnson was. “You could have walked away from all this!”

“But the delivery system was not,” Fitz continued, as if he had not heard a word that the young woman had said, “no thanks to your accelerated timetable of attacking the shipments and supplies. I admit, it was a clever bit of a ruse though--”

Steve saw James make a small motion with one of his hands and Clint immediately wrapped the piece of cloth around Fitz's mouth, effectively silencing the young engineer-scientist. “Wait!” he heard Campbell shout, drawing all of their attention towards him. “The formula,” the doctor began, eyes on Fitz. “If it was perfected, it should have made all of them stronger, even with a timer release. We should all be dead, especially since this mechanism is exactly the same design as the one designed for the slow-release Centipede formula to heal burn victims.”

Even though Fitz was still bound, there was no sound coming from him. The young man's eyes weren't even betraying anything he was feeling with regards to Campbell's words. Motion from where the doctor was crouched drew his attention back towards the dead body of Natasha, as he saw Campbell draw back her hair, with her neck still twisted in an unnatural angle. However, where the rectangular-looking chip was embedded at the nape of her neck, was also a spiderweb of black that seemed to crawl just beneath the skin.

“That mechanism fed them both the formula and liquefied terragen crystals...” Campbell began, standing up and approaching Clint and Fitz. “It began poisoning them the minute they started to use their powers. The more they used it, the more the terragen traveled through their bodies. Is that what it did, Fitz?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve saw James nod once for Clint to remove the gag from the young man. There was nothing on Fitz's expression to suggest the theory was true, but considering what Bucky had stated about the five Winter Soldiers, it would have certainly explained why the fight had lasted as short as it had.

Even though pain still wracked his body, Steve wasn't above acknowledging that fighting two Inhuman-enhanced super-soldiers simultaneously was almost beyond his own abilities. He knew that he had the agility, speed, and techniques, but the way the five and Natasha had fought was through brutality – utter strength and extremely hard and quick hits to kill an opponent in any way possible. That had been the same way Bucky had fought when he had been the Winter Soldier.

“Fitz, please answer the question,” he heard Stevie say as he returned his attention on the young man, who hadn't even uttered a word since his gag had been removed. There wasn't a blankness to the engineer-scientist's look, but neither was the unsettling gaze he had there anymore.

“Doctor!” James' barked order that shattered the momentary silence nearly startled Steve.

There was still no reaction, at least none that Steve could see, until suddenly, he saw Fitz silently state something, moving only his lips for a brief moment before biting down on something within his mouth. Even the shout of denial from James was too late to stop it, as Fitz collapsed, a thin sliver of white foam bubbling out of his mouth. Clint had caught the young man from fully hitting the ground. Campbell and Simmons rushed over, but even both the doctor and scientist could not do anything to stop the cyanide capsule that Fitz had cracked and swallowed.

Steve could only watch, his heart already aching from what had happened to Bucky, and even more now. Fitz's final words had not been vocally uttered, but he had read his lips. Even then, he didn't know whether it had been a confession or a last jab at SHIELD, and at both James and Bucky:

_You trained all of us too well._

* * *

_Later..._

 

“A couple of your friends arrived a hour or so ago. Peggy's interviewing them at the moment, but it would be nice for them and Steve to see that you're doing better.”

что?

Bucky blinked, tearing his eyes from the ceiling and turned his head slightly towards the source of the voice. Steve's counterpart was standing by the door to the recovery room he had been resting in since... well, since he had woken up here. His normally accurate internal time measurement system had lost track of how long he had been bedridden. It had been from a combination of the injuries that he had sustained in a fight that he barely remembered, and also from the thousands of fragments that swirled in his mind like a windstorm.

_I'm with you, until the end of the line._

я знаю.

Said storm had somewhat died to a light breeze when he had been given a notebook that was filled with pages of writing, and stuffed with an additional sketchpad. Through his reading, through the sketches, he began to remember bits and pieces of what had happened, both in the now and in the past. He remembered making some sort of promise to Steve, a promise that made both of them happy. But despite reading the notebook and looking at the sketchpad until exhaustion claimed him, he didn't remember what it was.

я не знаю.

When he had mentioned the lack of memory and blank spots that he still had, including trying to recall what that promise was, to Steve, he had seen something profoundly sad flash by those blue-green eyes of his. Steve's reassurance though, was a dissonance against that brief moment. Even though a part of him didn't want to think more of it, another part of him wanted to puzzle it – to _try_ to remember what he had said, what promise he had made.

It was a futile effort though.

“Friends?” he questioned, a scratchy feeling in his throat as he frowned. “How?”

“The connection between our worlds was left open after you and Steve came through,” she said. “Your friends were worried about the two of you. It's been at least a month or more since the two of you traveled from your reality's silo, so they came exploring and found us on the other side. Several of the guards that Jiaying and Peggy posted nearly shot and killed your friends – had Daisy not been there and realized that they were not the enemy.”

“I don't have friends,” he said, looking away and back up at the ceiling. “They're Steve's friends. Not mine.”

“Well, at least one of them considers both you and Steve her friends. I can't stand to be in the same room as her at the moment, but I can at least escort you there,” he heard her quietly state.

He blinked again, frowning as he looked back down at her. “Romanov?”

She silently nodded in affirmation before asking, “You feeling up to it, Bucky?”

“Why...” he began.

“If you have any questions, you're going to have to ask them yourself,” she said, pushing off the frame of the door she had been leaning against and walked over to pluck a small pile of neatly folded clothes from a chair. Where they had come from, he didn't know, but he was grateful that he did not have to walk around in slippers or a medical gown. She was not cruel to just toss it to him though and instead, came over, placing the pile on the end of the bed before offering a hand to help him up.

He considered refusing to leave, not because he was being obstinate, but because he was afraid. It was not a visceral, terror that had gripped him, but more that he was unsure what to expect. When he had drifted in and out of sleep, in and out from the haze that had surrounded him as he healed and tried to remember what had happened, he had sometimes felt someone slipping their hand into his. He had always woken up for a brief moment of clarity to find his hand gripping empty air. He would have thought it just his mind trying to readjust to the strange norm that had settled over him, but there had been a warmth left behind from whomever had sat vigil beside him that he had felt through his hand.

Steve had visited and sat with him during the more lucid periods that he had while recovering, sometimes telling him and pointing out a few details from the sketches or the notebook that he fuzzily remembered. Sometimes though, Steve just sat there, sketching some more landscapes and people, giving him a chance to see if he could pick up on any other memories.

Bucky was apprehensive – did Steve's friends know what he had done in the past days and weeks that he had been here? What he clearly remembered doing to AIDA to prevent his own erasure? While he was somewhat confident that Romanov would understand the best, he wondered what they expected of him. He was in a limbo of a state, and he knew and hoped that Steve would understand that even if the final activation word had not been uttered, it would take only that word to completely erase whatever he had been.

There was no countdown sequence left – he was teetering on the edge of the tenth word.

Yet he was still curious. With the worlds connected, with AIDA killed and the six super-soldiers dead, he and Steve had fulfilled the mission. They could potentially go home now, even though he only had the faintest idea of how the assault went. Daisy Johnson and Peggy Carter were still alive, and from the limited view he had of the recovery room, it seemed that they were back at the underground base of the disused rocket range. It seemed that SHIELD and Jiaying's people were keeping an eye on the gateway, and therefore, the way home was open.

He decided to give into his curiosity and lifted his arm out from under the sheets. The grip that Steve's counterpart had on him was firm and strong as she help him sit up. “Do you need help getting dressed?” she asked stepping back, and bringing the clothes pile closer to him.

“No,” he said, glancing up from the pile. He had a faint memory that seemed to slip out of his grasp the more he tried to swipe at it – that of Steve asking the same thing only a few weeks ago, when they had first arrived in Stark Tower within the Framework and had been given clean clothes to change into. Back then, he had accepted Steve's help in getting dressed, but now...

_I'm with you, until the end of the line._

“I think I can manage,” he continued, nodding, as he tucked that other thought that accompanied the childhood promise away for the moment. “Thanks.”

~~~

“Well, this is not the first time I've been stared at by openly hostile looks.”

“It's all right, Nat,” Steve said as they finally entered the ops planning room, with Peggy ordering all personnel currently in there to leave. James was the last to enter and closed the door once everyone else except for the five of them had left.

Monitoring of the different clean up and dismantling operations at the Siberian site would continue, as there were other areas within the base that the personnel could remotely connect to, to their main hub. When he had been summoned to Peggy's office, he had expected the request to be something entirely different, a request to quickly assist an ongoing operation or something else. He had not expected Natasha and a highly unexpected person to be waiting in Peggy's office. There had been no security guards posted outside of her office, and James had been the only other person present, though Natasha had been giving Bucky's counterpart a most curious of looks when he, Steve, had entered.

The fact that Natasha and the other person accompanying her, King T'Challa of Wakanda, had crossed over from their world to here was quite remarkable. It also solved the mystery of whether or not there was a time dilation between this reality and the other. The time that he and Bucky had spent here equaled the time they had been missing from their reality. And naturally, Natasha had wondered where the two of them had gone after all that had happened. He didn't fault her, as he had borrowed her quinjet and hadn't returned it yet – to which he had apologized for.

It was a heartfelt reunion with Natasha – him being quite glad to see her naturally red haired and alive, and a cautious one with T'Challa. The King of Wakanda had not spoken much other than introduce himself to Peggy and James, and offered a simple explanation of peace and apology to him, Steve, for what happened at the Berlin Airport. He had also found out that Zemo had been taken into custody and was now incarcerated and kept in a more secured area at the Berlin Interpol Station – awaiting both a transfer to more secured prison and eventual trial.

After arresting Zemo, T'Challa had been the first to discover that the portal he and Bucky had been transported through, had widened to the length and size of the one that was in this reality. Considering the remoteness of the silo though, the King of Wakanda had left the area as is and had set up a monitoring system. When it had picked up on activity happening in the silo – namely the appearance of this reality's Natasha Romanov doing a quick recon on the silo, it was then that he had called Natasha in to investigate.

Whatever agreement the two had had, it was something that Steve was not all that curious to find out. After that explanation to him and the others in Peggy's office, it had led Natasha to request the usage of the ops planning room, piquing Steve's curiosity. Though no other explanation or news had been given of the situation thus far in their reality, Steve knew that he would soon find out what happened to Colonel Rhodes, along with all of the others – and even his own probable persona non grata status within the world.

Despite his initial step towards home after that horrific battle in the silo against the super-soldiers, he found that rest and recovery had him wanting to stay longer in this reality. HYDRA had been dealt a massive blow, but they were not defeated yet. But Natasha and T'Challa were here now, and they were a sobering reminder that he still had his duty to protect Earth.

He needed to protect the world from the warning that the future Caroline and the drawing of the gauntlet with the six stones had been given to him. He had his own problems to contend with, and he did not want to continue to drag Bucky into conflicts. He had seen the mental exhaustion reflected in Bucky's eyes, every single time he had sat with him while he was awake. Asleep, Bucky looked at peace, but Steve had felt the tension running through him whenever he held his hand, silently willing him to get better.

At the present though, the ops planning room was the only relatively secured place that Natasha felt comfortable enough to present the information she wanted to present. Steve was a little surprised that she was going to present the information on SHIELD systems, and not when they returned to their reality. He knew that he shouldn't have been surprised though, when Natasha finally brought up the schematics of a cylindrical-looking facility.

“This is 'The Raft',” Natasha stated. “Also known as General Ross' personal prison to house dangerous criminals who have violated the Registration Act. It's in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and only rises from under the sea with an authorization code. It was originally designed to house what he deemed 'dangerous' Inhumans after Ross somehow found out about Coulson and his team's encounter with the Inhuman leader, Jiaying, and her people. They're not a threat anymore, but Ross had insisted that it be finished.”

He glanced at her, frowning slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest, before looking over to see that both Peggy and James were looking at the schematics with some concern on their faces. It was good that Jiaying was not present, but he hoped that either Peggy or James would wipe this and what Natasha had just said from official records. Jiaying did not need to know that another dimension had almost imprisoned Inhumans in nearly the same manner that HYDRA in this dimension had hunted Inhumans down.

“You need not worry. It is being repurposed from that, Captain Rogers,” T'Challa stated, drawing his attention back to the schematic. “On the condition of Wakanda's help in ensuring that this prison of sorts is made more robust, the UN has been convinced to turn it into a prison for more deserving criminals than those who only seek to live their lives in peace. Zemo will be the first to be transferred there once modifications are complete... in about a month.”

Though T'Challa's words and tone were quite neutral and explanatory, Steve saw the calculating gleam in his eyes. It need not be said that perhaps this was how Natasha had unexpectedly received schematics and the like of the prison. By not saying that T'Challa had given Natasha schematics or was aiding or advising on how to infiltrate and get those who followed him in Berlin, Steve could see that the King of Wakanda was making sure he had plausible deniability.

“Sam and Wanda are being held here--” Natasha continued after a moment, highlighting a portion of the hard-light projection of the cylindrical prison. “Clint and Scott have already taken plea deals because of their families. They were both transferred to house arrest a week ago.”

“Are they okay though?” he asked.

“They are... more resilient in the face of adversary than General Ross has anticipated, Captain,” T'Challa stated, nodding once. “Ms. Maximoff in particular. You have trained them well. They will be ready when the time comes.”

Steve nodded, though before he could ask another question, the door opened as two more people walked in. He couldn't help but openly and widely smile as he saw Stevie enter, followed by Bucky. However, he dropped that smile as he saw Bucky pause at the entrance, looking quite warily at T'Challa. “It's all right, Bucky,” he said, coming over to the other side and taking a couple of steps forward so that he was partially position in front of the King of Wakanda. It was not that he thought that T'Challa needed his protection, but more for the benefit of Bucky to calm him down from the flight-fight response that he could see growing by the second.

“I am not here to arrest you, Sergeant Barnes,” T'Challa stated, as Steve saw Stevie pause, looking back and forth between Bucky and the three of them. It looked as if she had been trying to make her way quickly to where Peggy and James had been standing – as if they were a safe area for her to find shelter with. He didn't blame her for looking slightly apprehensive or wanting to leave though; Natasha's presence was most likely making her uncomfortable.

It was Natasha's sharp, “Barnes!” that finally snapped Bucky out of his deer-in-headlights response, as he saw him shut the door, just as Natasha pulled out something small, thin, and booklet-like from one of her waist belt compartments.

His counterpart had made her way to where Peggy and James were, when Steve saw Natasha toss the booklet onto the circular table. It skittered to a stop at the edge, right across from where Bucky was. Steve saw him take a couple of cautious steps forward, still silent, and still warily keeping an eye on T'Challa. Steve returned to where he had been standing, watching both T'Challa and Bucky, though he noticed that Natasha looked unconcerned. He glanced over towards the notebook, back-lit by the projection of The Raft. The color of the notebook was a little difficult to discern due to the darkness in the room, but Steve thought that it looked red. Could Natasha have found the red book that Bucky had stated that Karpov had?

He saw Bucky pick up the notebook with his hand, frowning for just a moment before placing it back down. Bucky looked back up and asked, “Got a lighter to go with this, Romanov?”

“Take this, Sergeant Barnes, and press it in between the pages,” Steve heard T'Challa say as he turned slightly to see the man pluck a curious-looking black bead from the beaded bracelet on his wrist and roll it across the table. “It should provide a sufficient enough of a spark to consume that.”

“Did Zemo have this on him?” Bucky questioned, as he picked up the bead but did not put it in between the pages yet, and instead, tapped the notebook with a finger.

“He did,” the King of Wakanda answered, nodding once in a sage manner. “The world knows of his deeds, and he is in Interpol custody.”

It was almost indiscernible, but Steve thought he saw a minute look of relief pass through Bucky's eyes. However, that was furthered with his actions as he saw him place the bead in between the pages. Instead of smashing or punching the cover of the notebook as he had half expected him to do, Bucky instead, merely applied enough pressure to crack the bead.

It was a good thing he did so as well, as at once, the edges of the pages immediately burst into flames. Steve saw him pick it up by the corner and toss it into the trash bin nearest to him. Whatever that bead was, it quickly consumed the notebook, and soon, there was only a thin sliver of smoke issuing up from the trash bin.

“So, Steve, how do you want to break Sam and Wanda out?” Natasha asked, bringing their attention back to the hard-light projection. “You're welcome to contribute to the jail break plan, Barnes,” she said, throwing Bucky a breezy nod of her head.

“Do you need help?” he heard Stevie ask. “We do owe both of you for your help here.”

“SHIELD needs you, all of you here,” Steve said, turning slightly towards Peggy and the others, shaking his head. “Your war is not over yet, and this--” he gestured back towards the projection “--is better as a two-man operation than a strike team.”

“Aw, and here I thought I finally get to join the two of you in your little adventures, Steve,” Natasha stated in a teasing tone, smiling a little, though there was some disappointment in her eyes.

Steve shook his head as he couldn't help but grin for a moment, saying, “You're the other person in the two-man team, Nat.” He glanced over towards Bucky, and saw him nod, which indicated that he did at least remember a little of their conversations with regards to what would happen once they got back to their reality. “Bucky won't be joining us in this op. We've already talked it over. Sam, Wanda, and I still going to need a getaway quinjet, so if you don't mind...”

“Well, you didn't damage my bird too much, Steve,” she answered, the edges of her lips quirking up in a smile. “So yeah.” She turned her attention to Bucky saying, “You got a place in mind to stay and wait for us, Barnes?”

There seemed to be a momentary hesitation in Bucky's eyes before Steve saw him silently shake his head negative. “Budapest,” he heard Natasha suggest. “You know where that cache is, right? I mean, Clint and I used a little of it back when we had a mission hiccup there, but it's still relatively full. There was also a nice little place right on the Danube, across from Margaret Island--”

Bucky silently shook his head, but before Natasha could explain any further, he said, “No. I can't wait... not anywhere near a population center.” Steve caught his eyes as he saw him tap his head with a finger saying, “I'm only one word away. Any person who knows Russian can activate me at any time. I can't do this anymore, Steve. I need to... I need--”

“You need shelter, Sergeant Barnes,” T'Challa quietly spoke up, as Steve glanced over to see him clasp his hands together in a statesman-like and diplomatic fashion. “You need shelter against the storm that will seek to continue to use you until they can be brought to justice for what they have done. Zemo was the first, but as I have gathered thus far, there are many more. Wakanda would be willing to offer you that shelter – a place to sleep until we can find a way to extract those commands from your mind.”

“You can do that?” Natasha asked, looking as surprised as Steve himself felt.

At the same time, Bucky had asked, “Cryogenesis?”

“It will have to be that for the moment, Sergeant Barnes,” T'Challa answered, nodding once. “It will take time – as I am sure that it will take time for Captain Rogers and Ms. Romanov here to dismantle and ensure that the last traces of a long ago war no longer remain.”

Bucky was silent and though Steve wanted to say that they would consider it, it was not his place to do so. This was Bucky's choice, and Steve knew that he knew that he was already committed to breaking Sam and the others out of General Ross' infernal prison. Though he wanted Bucky to be at his side, to share in more adventures and fights with him, to continue their journey forward and together as promised – even though he knew that Bucky no longer remembered that promise made – he still kept silent. He could clearly see the exhaustion, mentally and physically, in Bucky's eyes and in the way he carried himself.

“They still blame me for a lot of things, Your Highness,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. “Even if I were exonerated, even if your scientists can get rid of the programming, the files that state what I had done as a HYDRA operative are still out there. Why...why harbor a war criminal?”

“Many weapons are forged during a war,” T'Challa answered after a moment of silence. “Some more effective than others, but most are discarded after they have outlived their usefulness, or the war has ended. The weapons themselves will always have to live with the consequences of their actions, but justice will always come to those who wielded or forged the weapons. Eventually, the world will know and discern the truth from the lies. Eventually, they will learn that forging weapons out of the need for vengeance will not solve anything. Until then, I hope that you may be able to find a small measure of peace, Sergeant Barnes.”

The words sounded familiar to Steve, and it wasn't until he glanced over towards Peggy, Stevie, and James that he realized that it mirrored what Tony had stated while they had been in the Framework. He returned his attention to T'Challa and Bucky, noticing that Natasha, standing across from him, had nodded slightly in agreement with the King of Wakanda's words. She had been a weapon forged by the Soviets, by HYDRA as well. He didn't know the extent of her own conditioning, but it seemed that SHIELD had helped her overcome it.

Bucky still remained silent, and Steve held his tongue as he saw him look down towards his hand, and then towards the trashcan. The flames that had consumed the book were already gone, and only a thin wisp of smoke issued up from it. Finally Bucky looked back up, and Steve caught his eyes looking over at him as he heard him say, “Not the end of the line yet, Steve. I'm just getting off for now. I'll catch up with you later.”

Steve nodded in understanding, feeling happy for him. “I know,” he said, the edges of his lips quirking up in a smile. “I'll be waiting for you.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

FINI

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! I didn't expect this fic to be read as much as it has garnered, due to the density, subject matter, and the overwhelming glut of other CA fics out there. Your support has been much appreciated.
> 
> I also wanted to leave some final notes to wrap up some questions that you may have:  
> a) Yes, I did ignore Shuri's commentary to her brother in Black Panther about 'oh great, another white boy for us to heal', in order to resolve the slight timeline discontinuity I had for this fic and when the stinger of Bucky going back into cryo in CA:CW, and the BP movie took place in the MCU timeline.
> 
> b) As to why I never write in Russian whenever typing Natasha's name (given or surname), it's because per this fic, Natasha Romanov is her alias, much like the other aliases given to the five super-soldiers.
> 
> c) Why I set this fic in continuity between CA:CW and A:IW? It's because I was sorely disappointed with the plotline of CA:CW – it got really great once the five other Winter Soldiers entered the plot, but then fell flat on its face. Zemo could have been a much better villain than a petty, underdeveloped one, had they taken CA:CW actually into that five Winter Soldier plot thread. So I added them back in as actual threats, took a couple of leaflets from the comics (especially from The Winter Soldier collection [ISBN: 978-0-7851-9065-3]) and not as red herrings.
> 
> d) I have a couple of spinoffs, mostly memory fics in Bucky's POV that I want to write and flesh out – dealing with WWII (possibly before WWII), and during the Cold War.
> 
> e) Is this a Steve/Bucky ship fic or not? It's a first and foremost a spycraft/war story. War, no matter where, when, and how long, will mess you up. Sometimes you recover your old life, sometimes you don't, and sometimes, you just have to live with what you've got.
> 
> So thanks again for reading, and I hope to see you in the next fic! Cheers!


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